Mortal Instruments 1. Brothers and Sister

_**In a world in which one fated action or rather, the lack of one, where a single change in history means that the Uprising was successful, Clary lives like a princess in a world of shimmering wonder and blood that her father spilled to turn the world on its back for her. Jocelyn never raises her hand against her husband, and so there is no forces to save the Clave during the Great Uprising. Sometimes all that separates a loss from a win is three simple words. Valentine has won. Darkness is Coming. The only question is from where? Sebclace threesome pairing, Incest. Will also have other pairings, but the main couple is ClaryxSebastian/JonathanxJace. Will probably have hurt/comfort later as well.**_

"_**If you won't give me answers," Valentine hissed, "you can give me your blood. It will do me and mine more good than it will you." **_

Jace had always known he had only one role in life: serve. Any and all other uses came second to laying his life before his lord, his master, the only father figure had had ever known. His father had been killed early on in life, leaving him orphaned with no where to go. Valentine Morganstern, the leader of a group of rebels that systematically took down the existing regime known as the Clave, had taken responsibility for his father's demise, as it had been on one of the Circle's mission that his father had been killed on, specifically assigned to him by Valentine himself as his right hand man. His mother had been driven insane by grief and had killed herself shortly after, regardless of the fact that she still carried him in her womb.

Valentine had ordered another member of his inner circle cut him out of his mother so he too wouldn't be lost. After all, there's was a dying race.

And so his very existence was owed to this man and his cause. He tried his best, growing up, to be everything Valentine wanted. His life belonged to Valentine for so many countless reasons after all, and despite being raised off grounds for several years, he was grateful. He learned, as he got older, that Valentine had made a habit of raising his children in separate households, and spending only allotted time with each, rotating through them on a daily basis so that their habits were unique in them and had no outside forces to dictate their personalities. Two days a week he saw him, and on the seventh day that didn't belong to one of the children belonged to Valentine himself.

On occasion, Valentine boasted to him the successes of the others; Clarissa was growing up to be a very bright child and was the subject of many household conversations. She was attractive to him, even if he hadn't actually ever met her. Her brother, it seemed however, found her the bane of his very existence. Jace just couldn't wrap his mind around that though. She seemed perfect.

As they grew older, that seventh day became a day of fraternization between Valentine's actual children, and he had heard stories about how the other boy and girl interacted. Jonathan, the eldest, had a distasteful habit of antagonizing his young, sweet sister into a bitter rage that often ended in blood; the two seemed polar opposites and he couldn't understand how they could act that way, when he would latch on to anyone that came to visit him- no one was safe from his affections. It was shortly after his sixth birthday that Valentine alluded that he may have had ceased his children's interactions with each other; Clarissa, the daughter, had apparently nearly killed her brother somehow. Their parents had been out of the room, and he had done what he always had, and when they came back, he was laying in a pool of his own blood as Clarissa gave it to him

It was then that he began begging for any scrap of affection more that he could receive. Despite knowing that he was nothing of real importance to Valentine, he wanted, needed the touch of another human being in his life. He longed for companionship, wished to breath it in, and clung when ever the man came around. 16 hours a week just wasn't enough.

What he got was hardly what he wanted. Valentine decided to pit the boys against one another, and used the excuse of socialization to make them strive to out-man the other boy. They fought, weekly, going at each other like their life depended on it, trading physical blows and mental ones. Their prize most days was hardly even worthy of the damages they each took. He eventually stopped putting forth the effort, knowing that the end result was never worth the risks involved, which drove the other Jonathan crazy because he enjoyed the vicious chase he ran far more than the actual prize of winning.

_Jonathan always was most dreadful to him. Always blood thirsty, he'd come at him from any side he could, just to get the upper hand. Valentine reprimanded him offhandedly, and the boy would smirk like his father had acknowledged a strength in him and would turn on him again._

_Spinning on his heel, Jace dropped down and shoved upward abruptly, taking his opportunity and momentum to drive his fist into the other boys face._

_Jonathan only smiled at him, wiping the blood from his split lip._

_He rushed him then, all fury, only to get caught up in Jace's long limbs as he flipped his brother and slammed him into the ground with a loud crack. The boy's black eyes widened as he sat beneath him, watching the wiry boy that stood threateningly before him. A noise at the doorway had both children's attention, and Morganstern's son summoned up every ounce of pathetic nature he could master and wailed out false agony, playing his mother like a puppeteer, large crocodile tears streaming forcefully down his cheeks as his face turned pink from the effort._

_Jocelyn rushed to her son, shoving Jace off balance and to the ground away from her weeping child and pulled him up into her arms, embracing him close as he sniffled, the back of his hand rubbing dramatically at his eyes as the tears came easily enough. Mothering came so naturally to the woman, as she rocked her baby boy to silence, easing his pains and fears alike. He longed for a moment like that, to have someones' worry consume them so like hers did time and time again that all they could do was rush to help them. Jace was sure he had hurt him, but not enough for the show the boy was putting on._

_Jocelyn Fairchild was a hauntingly beautiful woman, and for every part of her doll-like delicacy, she had three parts fierceness. She turned her verdant eyes on him, the narrowness cutting him like her son's blade. "Valentine, you must keep control over your play things. You alone are responsible for our children's safety when you expose them to such a... **fiend.**"_

_"I agree that someone should have kept an eye on him. But it should have been Jonathan's, not I."_

_"What if something had happened? What if it had been Clary and not Jonathan? What then, if your precious daughter was hurt-" The woman's arms visibly tightened, and he heard a muffled noise in her breast as the elder boy let out a wash of air across her corseted bosom, his hand tightening at her back._

_"What of Clarissa, indeed..." Valentine approached now on silent feet, and Jonathan noticeably straightened, his sniffling silenced immediately as he pulled back from his mother's embrace. He watched his reigning father, the strength in his taught muscles with a similar affection that he himself felt, and when he spoke he found that both lingered on his voice._

_A smile played at his lips, as he addressed his wife fondly, his hand brushing the columns of waves in her hair lovingly, "You still think her so weak that she couldn't take out her own Adam? Do you really see that much of yourself in our lovely daughter, Jocelyn, that you can't believe she could ever protect herself from the likes of him?"_

_Jocelyn turned away from him, her glance darting to Jace momentarily, taking in the small boy who quaked in fear of the King and Queen of this new world with all of the respect he could muster, with a burning passion for love and compassion from the only people he had ever known. Jace watched her as her mouth opened and closed quickly after, before pulling herself from son and husband and storming from the room, her wide gait making her hips snap as she moved, the echoing crack of her heels echoing in the room as she made her escape, intent not to let Valentine see how he had won._

_But Jace saw, he saw everything, and as she passed him, a look of disgust passed her face. Not because of what he was, but what she feared he would become, Jace understood._

_"Come, Jonathan Christopher." his father called regally, "attend to your mother, remind her of her role in all of this, while I see to your sister."_

_Silently, the boy nodded, seeing himself out of the room after his father._

On her seventh birthday, Clarissa had asked her father for more time. She had intended it to have taken another meaning, Jace figured, and thought herself most clever until she actually was given her gift, but what she received brought her more joy in the long run, at least that was how Jace saw it. Their interactions then became a three-way battle, one weekend out of the month. Jace began to live for this weekend, as he could pretend that he had a real family for once, complete with a mother that came along with the complete package. He watched the woman that mothered his siblings with interest in the way she attended her children; her affection seemed to all reside in Clarissa, and eventually that kind hand began to be offered his way as well, but to her actual son, she avoided, making a palpable distance that told him that neither really wanted to cross the void.

Regardless of the awkwardness and the intention behind the interactions, it was nice to have this family dynamic, and he tried to ignore the elder child's antics and focused on the girl's. Jonathan gave all the punches, but Clarissa dealt them out just as hard and rough. Despite her angelic features, he knew that she was like a viper ready to strike when provoked fairly quickly, and decided that her wrath would never be his, and moved to always be on her good side.

His favorite memory came from the first morning he had saw the young angel's face for the first time, and even though he had so few to count through, Jace was fairly certain it would have still been his favorite regardless of a larger quantity he could have had.

_This house had to be the grandest of all three Jace had ever been in. All of the floors were marble, gold inlaid and leafing so much on the walls. Painting hung in the hall of beautiful places and people. Despite its well-to-do appearance, the stark walls left him cold, and he wondered if everyone felt that way here. Opening a door which had previously been shut, Jace peeked in to watch the occupants within, a boy and a girl, in a spat._

_The girl had her hair in a loose side braid, the long curly hair sticking out defiantly from the delicate spinning design, making her look a bit wild despite the amount of care people gave her. She looked like a fairy tale princess to him, with a flowing dress to match her intricate hairstyle. The blue cotton sundress had smudges all over it, like she had been rolling in the dirt, and a splotched smear beneath her right eye._

_Her brother seemed to be harassing her again, his tongue pointed threateningly towards her like he was aiming to lick off the mud on her pale, freckled cheek, his arms splayed across her shoulders as he anchored her down where she stood and he tried to wrench her torso around._

_"GE'OFF ME, JONATHAN!"she cried, trying to unhinge the larger boy's hold. Her hands were grabbing at his arm, her feet lifting off the ground as she forced all of her weight into her arms, hoping to break his grip on his elbow._

_Jace smiled fondly, thinking that perhaps this was what it was to have a family. Without thinking, he stepped into the room and approached the pair._

_"Happy birthday, Miss Morganstern..." his voice betrayed him, cracking as he addressed her, watching her as she froze midair, her eyes like that of a doe as she put her slipper flats to the ground just in time for her brother to drop his hold on her shoulders._

_Jonathan was violently angry, his cry sharp as a knife stabbing with each articulation as he pushed Clary behind him, glaring at the approaching boy. "Don'tcho talk to my sister like you know her, angel boy."_

_"But she's my sister too, Jonathan. Same as you. I deserve to wish Clarissa-"_

_Clary ducked beneath the protective arm her brother meant to protect her with, shocking the white haired boy as she approached the orphan boy with all the kept stillness of a typhoon, reeling back and slamming the boy in the face with her foot with an elegant spin-kick that threw him off kilter. He hit the ground with a crack and the red-haired girl clamored after him, straddling his chest to pin him with her knobby knees against the marble floor, defenseless._

_For the second time in his life, Jace found himself looking up at a Morganstern woman and being subjected to her fiery wrath. It made him wonder if all men experienced women this way, or if something inside of him just rubbed this particular family the wrong way. He did, after all, impose on them constantly, and even now he found himself trespassing on a family occasion, unwelcome and unwanted._

_The girl looked at him a moment, mistrust easily the foremost thing in her eyes as she observed him, leaning back onto her haunches atop his ribs as he struggled to breath after the hit he had taken, before she leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Her hair fell like a crimson rope, tickling his throat where it swayed across, before she pulled hesitantly away, worried she had perhaps gone too far and turned her focus completely on the aftermath. His chest shook with every shaking breath and as she pulled away, she heard a silent groan of air washing over an injured lung._

_Shifting off of him, her gaze didn't waver from his, and he found himself haunted by the bright green orbs that remained pinned on him. Her hand held out to him in a peaceful offering, which he took, before getting hauled up close to her tiny figure._

_Jace supposed that perhaps some of the most amazing things came in small packages, as he watched the young princess seemingly at war with herself._

_"Next time," Clarissa began softly, her hand clenched in his shirt as she kept him near. Her green eyes looked around the room, as if he weren't a worthy enough subject as her hand came upon his shoulder, becoming iron as she pulled him close and she leaned in to whisper threateningly, "You call me Clarissa, I'll bring you to your knees."_

_Her hand shifted and idled in his golden crown of curls thoughtfully, her eyes darting back to his, the look intense and shimmering brightly, before patting him affectionately, "You'll be mine now, 'kay? Jonathan won't hurt you no more. Not unless he wants me mad."_

_The rest of the day went uneventful, with the three children playing a sort of Mother-May-I meet charades, where you had to appropriately guess what kind of monster you were being attacked by before they got you in three turns, each child taking turns to be the beast._

_Jace felt out of his league in comparison to Jonathan, especially when more children flooded into the grand room- a tall, lanky girl with pitch black hair and dark eyes accompanied by a boy with similar looks to him; siblings, Jace deduced, by the similar stance they walked in with, a closeness and fluidity to their movements born from years of close proximity. _

_The new presences made him feel off kilter; it was obvious to him that his siblings were close with the other two new comers by the way they responded. Clary dropped a ball, which she had been holding previously with a look of constipation on her face, a cry escaping her lips as she threw herself towards the door, a huge smile on her lips. She threw herself at the girl and was met with equal affection, the taller girl's hand coming to pet her ruby hair before they pulled away, brilliant smiles barely contained as they shook with excitement. _

_"Nice warlock, Clary," the boy called, dashing after the ball as it fell. He made a game of it with Jonathan as the girls occupied themselves with each other, bashing the ball across the room to each other._

_"Mum says we can stay for some time again!" the dark haired girl breathed with energy, bouncing on the balls of her feet, "She'll be on another raid for some time and says its proper time Alec and I-"_

_Leaning to the side, the young girl cut off, her eyes catching sight of an awkward young boy standing on his own. Pointing towards him, her voice dropped, "Clary...who's __**that?"**_

_Turning, half confused, Clary saw him standing off on his own, and gestured that it was alright for him to approach them, "That would be Jace... Father brought him and made him a gift for me."_

_The girl looked horrified. "So...No new dresses for me to steal this year?"_

_Clary laughed, smacking her friend playfully, "Izzy!"_

_A smile took them both, before Izzy shoved the girl towards the dueling brothers, and Clary rushed to restart the game. The dark girl remained, however, her smile fading to nothingness, until she simply stared at him with a calculating gaze._

_She too was beautiful, like Jocelyn and Clary, a haunting gorgeousness that made him feel like he stood in the wake of an angel, cursed to have its wrath upon his head. "I know who you are, Jonathan Christopher Herondale, and now its only right you know who I am."_

_Her approach was silent, like the wind blowing leaves across the air, and she watched him with a gaze that did not waiver, dark chocolate eyes rimmed with indigo narrowing as she pinned him against the wall, "I am Isabelle Lightwood, the daughter of Commander Maryse Lightwood. And that girl, she's gonna be my Parabatai when were old enough." _

_Confusion washed over Jace and he tilted his head to the side, looking at her as if she had spoken another language, "Para bat eye?"_

_Isabelle looked at him as if he had grown a second head from his shoulders, a mild look of disgust in her eye. "__**Parabatai,**__" she intoned indignantly, cross that she would have to explain it to him. "You know, soul mates, who we Shadowhunters choose to fight the greater evil with?"_

_"Why fight? Surely everyone can just get along without war..." he seemed genuine in his answer, looking to the girl his age with golden eyes, wide and pure with untouched innocence that the world hadn't gobbled up yet. Neither noticed that Alec watched them now, curious what kept them from joining the game._

_Again, the boy seemed to just not be getting it, and Isabelle deflated instantly with shock, like a balloon being sat on, everything exploded in her head. "Wait a minute. Your telling me you don't even know what our mandate from god is?" _

_The blankness in his eyes was all the answer she needed. The dark girl backed away from him, smug and worried she had said too much. It was common knowledge in the Circle that Jonathan Herondale, named secondly Jace by her own mother fondly, was a captive shut in. It hadn't occurred to her how sheltered he might have been, locked away in his dead parents' home all alone._

_Looking to the taller girl, Jace tried to stop her. She was an enigma full of answers to questions he had never known he should have asked. "Who is god?_

_"Why, I am." A dark shadow fell upon the children, and all within the room turned to acknowledge the thick man with ivory hair that stood foreboding in the doorway. As Clary turned, he saw the way her green eyes brightened, and she rushed forward, throwing herself at the man in heavy armor._

_"DADDY!" The man in question dropped down into a squat to meet her, a smile playing at his thin lips as his large arms hefted the girl up against his chest as her smaller ones clung to his neck. With his daughter in his arms, Valentine looked fiercer somehow, as if all that could ever be precious to him was there in his arms, and he would tear worlds asunder to protect that which was closest to him. His attention turned, cold dark eyes fastening down on the Lightwood girl that spoke so freely._

_"It's time you left off on the tales, don't you think, Isabelle? It would trouble your mother terribly to know that you speak so openly of things you know nothing thought you much smarter than that. Perhaps it was a mistake, bringing you here..."_

_"Yes sir." The once vibrant and sassy girl melted, leaving behind a skeleton in her place., shaking as she watched him with her wide dark eyes, "Please let us stay. Alec and I want a proper education that isn't knee deep in some Lycanthrope."_

_The room fell into silence, and tension in the air. Clary felt it too, and pulled away, her gaze softening the dark look in his black eyes as he saw the saddened look on her soft face. Even a cold man could not break his daughter's heart. And so he bent to her whimsy, instead. "To bed, with all of you. We will discuss such arrangements tomorrow."_

_The room dispersed quickly, much like cockroaches when a light was turned on at night, Isabelle bolting for the door with lightning speeds, and Jace saw a flicker of gold as she disappeared, her brother hot on her trail._

_Jonathan and Clary paused together, tightening like a knot as Valentine urged them to their own rooms, trying to force the two apart with his gaze alone, tightening their stances much like a real knot would under pressure, the pair standing close to one another as they took each other in with calculating gazes again before the elder boy leaned forth and kissed his sister in a way Jace felt off about, his lips gently caressing hers like the way one might kiss the most important person in the world to them. He only let her go when the girl sighed and pulled away on her own, her fluttering lids looking up at him with mild annoyance and something else. Sibling rivalry, perhaps? She stepped away, forcing his hand to fall from her face as she turned and walked briskly away, throwing her voice as she left to make her final demands._

_"Be nice, won't you, Jonathan? We're all he has in the world. You wouldn't hurt me so, would you?" her voice seemed so regal then, a demand worded like a favor, and Jace wondered if Jonathan would humor his sister._

_Glumly, the boy shoved his hands into his pockets, and glared at him momentarily before following her out with a steady elongated pace. "Come along, angel boy. It's time for bed."_

_Jace hurried after the other boy, refusing to be left behind and lost in such a large and wondrously cold place. As the boys ascended the spiral staircase, it occurred to the golden-haired boy that it wasn't the place that had warmed him, but Clary herself. _

_Settling into the futon thrown on the floor for him in Jonathan's room, Jace pressed his back against the wall, and felt the heat register through his body. Somehow, he knew that Clary must be on the other side of the wall, warming his very soul. He fell asleep thinking on Parabatai, and soul mates, and the identity of god, whoever he possibly could be._

Clary had been right with her promise too. Jonathan stopped all of his bitter attacks, replacing them with barely barbed ones. He soon found he might be able to befriend both, in fact. The brother seemed to be finally coming along.

The family outings came to an abrupt halt fairly quickly, however, and the children returned to their solitary homes, barred into the confines of the houses. None of them knew quite what had happened, but Jace eventually heard the accusatory whispers of the staff that made sure he had the means to continue living in his solitary confinement. Jocelyn Fairchild- Morganstern had been abducted from Valentine's home. Clarissa had been inconsolable, he heard, crying like the young child she was. The whole house spoke about it constantly, echoing hollowly through the walls to reach ears that they would rather they not receive them.

It had enraged him- how dare they speak of their masters like that? They owed everything to Valentine Morganstern, their very existence and way of life was because of him, and how he had seized control back from a corrupted government.

And then worry settled deep into his bones after his wrath had its way with him. Was Clary alright? He had no way of knowing, and the lack of contact with her, with Valentine, and perhaps even Jonathan, had him on edge.

He could be there for them, should be there for them. They were his family, weren't they? How could he just sit around and accept that they were in pain and not try to make his way to them, to alleviate what he could?

The Lightwood children came to live in his household as well. The loss of his wife turned Valentine wrathful, and those without reason in his house were sent away. From what the two had whispered to him under duress, he gathered that Clary was fine, physically, but she was inconsolable, mentally unwell. She and Jonathan both were barely eating, and neither left their rooms these days. It was for the best that they left for somewhere they would be given ample attention.

He supposed the same could be said about him. The only company he kept was when Izzy or Alec forced their way in with food and refused to abandon him. The two were loyal to a fault, and he wasn't even a close friend. At least at the time he wasn't. Now... now he couldn't imagine life without the two.

Regardless of the feelings that welled right beneath the surface of his flesh, like a pulse brought to life by his strife, Jace squashed down the worry and the guilt, and forced himself to live on without his adoptive family, becoming wound up and snappish as he bottled his urges and his worry, mindlessly shaking them as he went and ignoring the way they festered together, bubbling until they were ready to explode. He was thankful for those two surrogates that came to him with no where to go, because if he were in their shoes, he would have went running ages ago.

XOX

_Somewhere faint in the distance, the bell tower tolled nine. It had been a source of constant comfort to him for years, the only way he had to mark how the day had passed him by and how long until he was allowed human contact again_.

_A hard downpour shook the shingles on the roof in a rhythmic pattern. Sometimes, when it rained like this, he could pretend that there were so many people in the house, that that was the commotion he heard was the sounds of their movement: dancing, running, playing. He closed his eyes, and let his fantasies run wild, clinging to the feeling of camaraderie. He fell asleep in this fashion many nights, and woke up in the morning depressed to find himself alone, and it was in this way that he had fallen asleep the night that everything had changed._

_In the dark of night, something had rattled his window loose, letting the vicious wind and rain into his bedroom, the wet seeping into the curtains and the rich carpeting. Waking up, Jace bolted upright just in time to see a small shadow move across the window's light. His eyes searched out a figure standing weakly shaking in the dark, sliding the window back into place, as it trembled with cold._

_Jace would have known that small, doll-like figure anywhere, and despite his shock, he was excited to see his little adopted sister._

_Clary stood, drenched to the bone in a sage colored night gown, the elegant pin-tucking the only thing that hadn't fused to her skin, and her arms crossed over her chest to try to warm herself futilely, running rapidly up and down the length of her biceps. She shivered in the dark, cold and afraid, and something in him tightened, calling him to action. He had to protect her, had to put her before himself. "C-clary?" his voice cracked, coming out like a rattling sigh like one might when they are ice cold. Something in him recognized that the warmth in the air that seemed to follow her was gone, leaving them both hollow, watching one another, "W-what a-are you doin here?"_

_The girl looked as if she had gone through the worst this night, and it wasn't just the rain. There was a deep terror in her eyes that clouded her vision, widening the large green orbs and dilating them so the brilliant irises were slivered. They cleared just enough for her to recognize him as his voice reached her, and she seemed to be grateful for his presence, even though she shyly stood away from him near the window._

_Finally, after some time she spoke, and her voice would have broken him if he had let her. As it were, it shook him to the core, "My house is completely empty. Everyone's gone now, even father. The wolves woke me in the night and no one was there... no one was there..."_

_Being the youngest, her mother had coddled her, never leaving the girl alone in the house, and only attending her son Jonathan when her husband was present. With them both gone, she had no one to turn to when the night took its dark turns. She was abandoned, and she knew that deep in her bones and it had left her deeply shaken, enough that she had come here._

_"You shouldn't be here, Clary. Your father will be mad. Let me call someone to come get you." He only took a step, maybe two before she seized him, wrapping herself around his stomach, her face buried in his chest, warm wet seeping into his abdomen. _

_She was crying. "Please don't send me away Jace. I just want to be here, with you."_

_It occurred to him that it was a several hour walk, perhaps five for someone of her height. There would be no sending her away, even if he wanted to. He couldn't send her back into this rain, not on the night of a full moon, not to an empty house with no one to look after her,and above all else not when she was so obviously shaken and clung to him like a last life line before she was caste out to an unforgiving sea._

_Moving over to the squat dresser that housed all of his clothes, Jace pulled open the middle drawer and pulled out a knit wool sweater that was a little on the large size on him. He had gotten it for Christmas the year before, the first and only one they had shared as a complete family, thirteen months prior in fact, as he had been expected to grow into it and had not yet. He supposed he was just on the smaller side for his age, and accepted it with grace, packing the caramel colored sweater away for later use. Turning, he held it out to her, offering it up in exchange for her wet nightdress. _

_She took the thing timidly and held it out in her tight, white little fingers, her eyes looking for a place to duck behind for modesty. Jace, despite having never been taught modesty nor how to honor it, watched on, intrigued as she gave up hiding, and just slipped the overly large sweater over her head, struggling after it slunk around her hips to unbutton and slip the night dress off. It fell with a wet plop and her feet lifted daintily, stepping out of the large seeping puddle that was forming._

_The sweater came to her mid thigh, right above the knee and the sleeves draped over her hands so that the fingertips could be barely seen. It was endearing, the way it slunk off her one shoulder to expose the soft freckled skin beneath. It made her look all the more fragile, like a pixie compared to his much larger size. Her hands were futilely pushing the thick fabric up around her elbows. She looked ready for bed now, much more than he, as weariness settled deep into her bones, stiffening her bones. The back of one of her hands came up and sleepily rubbed at her eyelids, a soft yawn pulling at her lips as Jace walked away from her and she stumbled along after like a little lost lamb._

_Jace pulled the blankets back in the bed that he had previously been occupying and slid back into the cooling spot where he previously laid. He was busy smoothing the quilt when she scrambled up the mattress after him. Clary's slight weight came against his and her stomach molded to his as she curled into his side, her ruby head resting against his large shoulder._

_Her hair now was all that was left that was left to tell the tale of her journey here. Reaching out, Jace innocently smoothed a wayward strand back into the wet mass. His hand came away sharply as the backs of his knuckles caressed her bare collar bone, and her breathing hitched, her lovely eyes searching his out as she blinked coyly up at him._

_She blinked at him, wide and like a doll in so many ways, and Jace longed to do as Jonathan had done. Tentatively his face lowered, lips pressing against her full ones as he drew out her small gasp, her mouth moving against his, igniting darker things in his mind than such an innocent kiss ought to._

_They fell asleep in each others arms, dozing deeply. _

_The bell tower tolled midnight, and it sounded so close that it rattled the two children awake. Clary's hand tightened in the boy's pajama top and Jace jumped, waking them both._

_His eyes blinked rapidly in the dark, trying to make sense of what just happened while the girl on top of him sat up on her forearms. She too was confused, but kept her facial expression in check, even though she looked to the window where the waning moon sat in the middle of the sky. A smile passed her lips, and she laid her head back down, snuggling into her bed mate's chest. _

_A soft, warm something brushed against his lips, startling him. His lashes fluttered shut, the long pale hair covering the dark gold beneath._

_When he opened his eyes again, he saw the wide-eyed girl staring down at him innocently, as grand smile spreading over lips as she leaned forward, kissing him again and again, once, twice on the mouth, and again as an afterthought at his brow."Happy Birthday, Jonathan._

_"What is your wish?" she airily whispered, her lips still only a moment always from his. Her loving eyes watched him thoughtfully in a way no one else ever had, a way he doubted anyone else's ever could, and he couldn't help but feel content, here in her arms, warmed by the light of her very soul._

_His arms tightened around her, and his head cocked slightly to the side in a very Jace fashion, "A million wishes?"_

_Clary smacked him playfully, a growing smile taking over her entire face as she laughed, and oh, how he loved that sound, "That's not how wishes work Jace!"_

_In check now of her mirth, she leaned her forehead against his and closed her eyes, and he felt his heart reaching for her, "You only get one, or else it makes the wishing meaningless. It's the same as having everything; if you have the world, you can't understand real happiness, because you can't understand why everything is so meaningful."_

_"I suppose I'll have to make this wish worth millions then." Jace sounded thoughtful. His golden eyes watched her, washed out in the moonlight that shimmered through the curtain across his face and dark still, because only one side of his head faced the window. The light illuminated one eye softly_

_"What'dyou wish for then?" Clary's voice dropped, her breath baited. He saw how red her lips looked, the way they parted as she looked up innocently at him._

_Jace's lips moved foward, brushing against her cheek, his arms pulled her as close as he could manage without hurting her, and when he had finally absorbed the feeling of another human being, he held her there, her head craddled in the crook of his neck as his hand wove its way through the luscious, wet garnet hair, his lips at her ear. "My wish is to never be alone again. Especially not on my birthday..."_

_A meaningful smile appeared again on her lips, and she lowered her head enough that they pressed against the soft shell of his ear, "Then I'll be sure never to leave you alone, ever, again. Your wish is my command."_

_XOX_

_For once in his young life, Jace woke up truly happy. A halo of luscious, fiery hair spilled over his white pillows, framing the delicate face that had pressed itself into his chest. A noise had roused them, though neither were ready to move quite yet. _

_A door slammed and he forced his eyes to crack open, before forcing himself up and sitting, waking Clarissa entirely as he upset her from her peaceful place between half on the bed aand half on his chest, his eyes settling on their father who locked the door behind him and approached the bed with murder in his eyes._

_To say that Valentine was unpleased was a major understatement. He was wrathful when he came into Jace's house and found his daughter in bed with him, even more so how she laid with her head on his shoulder, her body molded on top of him as his arms held her around her waist._

_XOX_

_**Author's Note: I do not own The Mortal Instruments nor its characters. They belong to Cassandra Clare.**_

_**Quote at the beginning sparked most of this. Blame Ithuriel. He put such things in my mind...**_

_Helllllloooo again my lovelies. So this one began as a series of drabbles, about 10 pages worth now, and a theory of what if. The whole premise, the single irregularity here is that Valentine knew about Jocelyn's second pregnancy, which led to her never turned to Luke, and thus there were no allied forced to help the Clave. I also like the idea of the three amigos, with both boys pinning for her Adam thing may have confused many of you, but I will get around to explaining it in great detail. Any other questions, feel free to ask and I will try to answer them accordingly._

_Anywho, so much more to come. I adore this series, and with the conclusion of the final book in the series, I present this Alternate Universe in which our favorite heroine grew up in a "happy" home, completely accepting who she is._

Review, Favorite, Watch.

Show the love

'Till Next Time

TAORI


	2. Flame for the Birth of Nephilim

To say that he mad was an understatement. He had found his young daughter in bed with one of her brothers, so intimately pressed that it had him furious, regardless of how clearly his mind told him that nothing had yet occurred. But intimacy went hand in hand with passion, and no one would get away with such with _his _daughter. The only love and affection she needed would be, could be provided from he and Jocelyn.

That thought tightened his chest. Maybe that's what started all of this.

Part of the rage was rational his daughter had traveled on her own for hours to get here, in conditions that were probably fairly questionable as the prior night was the night of the full moon, and Brocelind Forest wasn't too far off from here. She very easily could have been attacked and killed, and no one would have known the wiser, no one could have protected her.

Valentine was unsure what he would do if something happened to the girl. She was so much more than an experiment, and his affection for her ran far deeper than he could imagine it could for one small child; his love for her perhaps outweighed that of Jocelyn's, a horrific thought of its own right. True, he had shot up all three of his children in utero, but it wasn't something he had ever given a second thought to, with the exception of Jonathan. All of the children were growing magnificently, and even if one child showed ill-advised tendencies...

Well that was his cross to bear, wasn't it? He regretted turning his son into a monster, not having experimented on him in the first place, but he was improving at least. The medications seemed to greatly improve his temperament he could even interact with Clary again without the two drawing blood.

It was the irrational rage, the passionate hatred that overtook him, that had the children afraid.

Wrenching his daughter from bed, Valentine pulled her small body against his chest. She struggled, of course she did, so like her mother, and he had to employ a technique he usually thought beneath him, and held the girl around the throat until she crumpled, passed out from the carotid artery compression.

Jace moved of his own accord, worried for his sister. Jumping from the bed, he rounded on him, shouting his confusion, but only earned himself a rough back-hand that threw him back towards the bed, his head snapping back and hitting the frame in his descent to the floor. His arm caught the rail as he slid downward, and a loud groan escaped his thick lips as his weight settled down, straining his arm backward painfully.

Their father held the girl gently, holding her soft face to the light as his large hand slid up her throat to hold her chin. She was every bit her mother, and he would be damned if anything came upon her head. Lifting her up, Valentine laid her back down on the mattress as Jace struggled to right himself, too messed up to get up the right way.

"What did you-" Jace began but was cut off as another fist swung at his face, catching him in the jaw and disrupting him. It hurt, but he didn't give him the satisfaction of a cry, only falling forward as he tried to regain his balance, the world swimming faster than he could watch it move. Everything blurred and his face burned, blood dripping from the cut that ran across his face, and he didn't see the knee that slammed up into his rib cage, roughly crushing the thick bone. Jace doubted it broke, but he could only take in shallow breaths, and a sharp yelp gave Valentine enough satisfaction that he idled for a moment.

While he was down, Valentine wound the boy's hair in his fingers, and yanked, tossing him back to the ground.

"Stay where you belong!" the older man bellowed viciously. He struggled himself with the urges to end the child's life and the desire to keep alive what he had invested so much time and resources in. The boy obeyed, rolling into a ball as he struggled for air.

Staying low, Jace rolled weakly to his knees, his breath wheezing with every in take, and his head curled downward to the ground, his forehead pressed to the low shag rug. He could feel bruises just beneath the surface, every broken bone that may be going the wrong way, and every muscle straining from the beating that he took without so much as raising a finger to defend himself.

"To be loved is to be destroyed, broken, Jace." Valentine looked disgusted now, but Jace couldn't pinpoint whether it was with him or with himself, but he figured it probably was the first; he had crossed so many lines last night, that he deserved this. He was nothing... nothing... He should feel blessed that he was even being cared for by this man, let alone welcomed so deeply into his family, and here he was taking advantage of his daughter's loneliness to fill his own.

It wasn't right, Jace knew, but he didn't regret his actions. He would take the punishment he was due, but he would not apologize. Not for this. "The next time I catch you so much as looking at my child that way again, we will revisit every torture you have studied. In excruciating detail."

Jace said nothing, did nothing. Everything in him screamed to look to Clary, to make sure she was all right, but he dared not lift his gaze from the floor. The boy had no doubt that their father wouldn't end him right here and now, and though it was his right, Jace wasn't sure if he would even defend himself against that, and so he stayed, sending all his good intentions and wishes silently through the floor.

The pale haired man sat, folding his legs at the knees, on the bed beside his angelic daughter, pulling her head into his lap. He pet her, lovingly as he observed the golden boy, broken on the floor. It was bothersome, the way the boy hadn't acknowledged anything, not the beating nor his words. He stayed pressed against the ground, somewhat in a fetal position, as commanded, but he had come to expect some sort of retaliation.

"Do clean yourself up. The Lightwood girl likes to ask questions, and I don't know about you, but I won't be answering them."

It was enough to make the boy move. He lifted his head, and struggled to gain footing, stumbling towards the door weakly. He crashed into several things on his way - a chair, a wall, the doorway- until finally he broke off into the hall. A loud crash alerted the entire household that something was amiss, and all he could think of was how grateful it did not occur in his own household.

Hefting his daughter off the bed once more, he made his way from the house just as the shit was about to hit the fan.

XOX

Alexander Gideon Lightwood had always been a very particular boy. He woke up every morning shortly after or before dawn, showered, and proceeded to find a corner or a window or some other nook or cranny that he could fold himself into with a book where he would pass half the day alone, absorbing as much as he could from the literature he found laying about the Herondale manor. Stephan and his family must have been avid readers, scholarly prowess obviously a high trait of theirs, as books lined most of the rooms that he had been able to gain access to. Out of the four floors, he had maybe found perhaps 15 rooms without books, and 8 of those had been bathrooms, and one didn't count because it had the ever comical **"**_**Everybody Poops**__: a Parent's guide to potty-training_" laying beside the sink on the second floor, another being the grand hall, and another the dining room.

So on this particular morning, the boy woke up, pulling on a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt which covered down to his first knuckles on his fingers and had few holes after a quick shower, knowing he was on his own until the rest of the house woke up. Today was of a special nature, he had heard rumors that Valentine would return off schedule for the young lord's birthday as was tradition, and they were all sticklers when it came to tradition. He had caught sight of the massive cake that sat in the kitchens the day before, and wondered if anyone else would come. There were always plenty of people around for Clary's birthdays, but for the life of him, Alec could not recall a single party for Jace or Jonathan that he had been invited to, not that he had gone to many of Clary's.

Silently, the pale boy moved out into the hallway, intent on going down to the second floor to a cozy little window seat in what was once a well visited library, all the books' bindings starting to fray from use, and all were well cared for as well, they were simply ancient. Taking the stairs two at a time, Alec gave a sharp cry, his hand coming to his mouth to stifle the noise before he woke the whole house.

"By the Angel, Jace! What the FUCK happened to you?" Alec shrieked as he saw the boy, laying in the broken shards of a vase that once sat peacefully with an array of floral fauna.

Weakly, the boy lifted his face to look mildly at the intruder, his voice coming as a broken croak as his split lip creaked open painfully, "I fell down the stairs..."

Alec leaned forward, a worried look on his face. His hands tentatively touched the break in his cheek, the winding rip that ran from the middle of his bottom lip across his cheek. The dark haired boy knew the difference between a hit and a fall, and this looked like the drag of a ring, not of a staircase. As his fingers delved too hard, Jace muttered a soft cry, and winced away.

Nodding, he leaned forward, pulling Jace's arm over his shoulders as he helped the larger boy limp to the nearest bathroom. If he wanted to hide himself behind a façade, then he would allow it, it was the least he could do. It was slow work, and it seemed Jace was intent on being left to rot on the floor as with ever step he slipped from his grasp, but Alec wasn't about to give up. He half dragged him into the bronze bathroom with a Victorian-style cauldron tub three times the size of almost any tub he had ever seen. If Alec had wished it, he was sure the vat of water would allow him to float on his back with arms and legs outstretched and he would only just touch the sides at any direction.

He motioned Jace towards the tub, and the boy sat limply on the lip as Alec turned the faucet on high, steaming liquid shooting forth into the pot-like tub. He didn't seem to be of any mind to obey him yet, and watched the elder boy throwing scented salts and, with an after thought of rifling through the medicine cabinet, threw in some tea leaves and dried rose petals for their natural astringent qualities. He smirked, recalling that many thought of roses, and in particular, their petals, as romantic, floating on the water as they were now.

The boy gave chase, pressing him against the tub roughly, as Alec noticed he had not made any advance on the front of actually getting into the tub, "Take off your clothes."

He didn't move, just stared blankly at the boy occupying his home. It wasn't often that someone ordered him around, and typically speaking, the orders were normally to put clothes _**on**_, not remove them. The face that met his was reassuring, but firm.

"C'mon. Quickly now. Before Iz comes in here and gives us both a verbal lashing." The dark haired boy's hand tugged urgently at his clothes, plucking at the buttons of his shirt until Jace conceded, moving of his own accord to remove the damaged flannel pajamas. As he moved, Jace winced as the muscles seized up, making Alec help him strip anyway. The playful smirk that played across the dark-haired boy's lips made him feel like he perhaps enjoyed the act much more than Jace did, and once he was done, he shoved the younger boy enthusiastically towards the tub. Jace obeyed this time without complaint, knowing it would do him no good to argue here, and sloshed into the water, a soft sigh rising from his lips as the bath rose up to embrace him warmly.

Alec was a slight boy, smaller around in the waist than he was, but he was tall, beginning to gain muscle mass in his long legs. He was still fairly hairless, and in the right light, he was sure Alec would get mistaken for a girl without enough curves. He was so thin that he almost had an hourglass shape, and as he lifted his arms to pull his shirt over his head, Jace couldn't help but watch the lithe muscles in his abdomen ripple upward, the ridge in his hips sharp contrast.

"Wait!" Jace cried, realizing the boy was pulling off his pants now, his bright blue eyes forever on him. The paleness to his flesh shone like a beacon, and since he had run his hand through his cropped wet hair and it stood back still, his eyes stood even brighter, his dark eyelashes stark against his cheeks and dark hooded lids. He looked shocked, and seductive, perhaps, as his thumbs paused hooked in the waistband of his pants ready to shimmy them down. "What do you think you're doing?!"

Alec laughed, and for a moment Jace felt ridiculous for feeling insecure with the boy, his lips pulling back as the melody echoed warmly through the bathroom. His hands wrapped around his stomach as he heartily howled, and his right hand fetched the stele he had in his back pocket, the mirth subsiding as he brought it thoughtfully to his lips, biting the tip slightly as he leaned back into the sink, "Ravishing you, of course."

Jace responded as one would think a straight adolescent boy might, and quickly covered himself, his hands violently yanking the shower curtain around to help create a barrier between them. Alec fought with him for a moment, before going to the other side of the tub, and simply pushing his way into the tub after only a few seconds of peace. The golden-haired boy panicked momentarily. He had no where he could run.

"Easy there, Herondale." Darting his eyes back to the electric blue ones that pierced him through the soul, he felt like he could command nothing but the furthest reaction of his body with the boy staring at him like that. He still had boxers on, but there was something predatory in the way his muscles rippled as he lowered himself towards the water, perching on the tub lip, "My only purpose here is to help you out. After all, with your luck today you'd drown in the shallow end of the drain. Now c'mere."

Watching the other boy, Jace eventually was able to shift upwards, realizing the other boy would not make another approach. Shakily, he relinquished the shower curtain, and it rustled back into place, still half covering him. Alec took his hand first, and rubbed gently, working out the easiest injuries first with attentive caresses that had him singing inside. He'd never had someone there to care for him after a beating, but knew probably more than most on how to reset your own dislocations and field dress wounds. It was far more pleasant than he had ever thought it could be, and he leaned further into the elder boy's hold, scooting closer and closer until he sat between the thighs that had frightened him, the back of his head towards Alec as it fell forward in pleasure.

Alec's strong, nimble hands ran comfortingly over his back, and he felt a heated touch along with it, a burning sensation following the chase of cold steel as the boy behind him cut iratzes into his pale flesh. His voice came as a breathy rasp, "Not a word of this to Isabelle. She doesn't know how to keep her mouth shut."

"Why?"

"Because she would wonder why it was needed in the first place."

"No not that." Breathing out in a rush, golden eyes met his, and Alec melted in the gaze. If the right questions were asked now, he might lose this boy and all the advances they were making would be for nothing. It had been a joke this time, making light of his anxiousness of being nude with another boy, but one that Alec hoped might one day be a reality. With his hands in the boys soft hair, Jace made small, whimpering noises that made him hard and he could only imagine those full lips falling open as he panted, his head pressing backwards in ecstasy.

"Because someone needs to look out for you. To Protect you." _**To love you. **_The Lightwood son thought silently, with a twinge of bittersweet resentment, brushing through Jace's golden curls, checking now for any breaks in the soft flesh. He felt like something had broken between them, something he could never fix again.

"Thank you." Jace's voice came from dead silence, stark in the pale room. He relaxed, feeling the other boy shift slightly behind him, arms coming around his shoulders as the two boys melded into one. "Thank you..._**Alec**_."

And perhaps, things were meant to break. Because sometimes, things once broken were given a chance to become stronger than they once were. With a smile, Alec pulled the long golden curls back, returning to his prior affections with finger-pads and nails, "Anytime...I'll always be there for you. You just have to ask it of me..."

XOX

Clary sniffled behind him, her tears long dried as she stumbled along behind her father. Her feet would have to be seen to, Valentine realized. She must have walked to the Herondale mansion in her slippers, and they did little to protect her small extremities. Her toes were black, and all up and down her legs to the seam of the sweater there were gashes where blood dried.

She had woken up about fifteen minutes from the house by horse, and had jumped from the beast, refusing his help, she was so furious with him. She had her mastered pout in place and limped with an attempted stomp beside the horse despite his pleas for her to get back on.

He tried to be lenient with her, always, but every time he gave her an inch she took the whole damn mile.

"Clarissa!" his voice was dark, commanding. His presence did nothing to help her mood, and she began crying harder as he went to touch her with the bloodied hands he had been to busy to have washed yet. His hands fell away, and he dismounted in order to be on equal level with his daughter, and he took a step towards her, softening his voice, as he tried to touch her chin affectionately, his other embracing her by her forearm to halt her, "Clary..."

She recoiled from his touch, turning her wet, hateful eyes to him for the first time ever, and something inside of him twisted, crying to him to put her back in her place. His hand tightened, fisting beneath her upturned chin, and before he could do anything, the girl shoved past him, running up the stairs to the house. Her poise was obviously taut and the moment the girl slammed the door shut, he already felt the undercurrent of his son's rage, even before he sought his gaze out from his window seat on the third floor.

Jonathan's dark eyes told him all of his misdeeds, all of the hatred he had barely disguised for the man they called father and of the wrath that overtook him, tightening his muscles for a fight. A movement in the room had his attention immediately, and a flash of red and dark green crashed into him, melting all of the evil he had seen a moment ago.

His son embraced his sister, his hand going to her fiery hair as he pulled her close. With one final glare, Jonathan closed the window curtains, finality ringing with a clear message for him. The last sight the father saw as the red curtain fell shut was the wide, malicious smile spread over his son's lips, the red halo of hair pressed beneath his chin as he looked down at the courtyard with superiority.

_**You are losing her.**_

And there was nothing that Valentine Morganstern could do but sit back and watch the city burn from the single spark he had lit unintentionally.

XOX

(~9 months later, October.)

The golden leaves outside rustled, casting strays and broken pieces a like across the courtyard. She could see the small lake outside shimmering through the leaves strewn across its surface and a boat rocked against the dock off shore, drawing out Clary's yearning to plunge beneath those gentle waves, to take in the warm, dying autumn air and the last of the outside world before it froze. It was on days like this she longed to escape, with her governess droning on and on and on about nothing that would ever concern her. So what if the Downworlders were their enemies?

The woman was nothing to look at, but it was obvious that she had ages of knowledge under her belt, experiences that made her important enough that Valentine requested her of all people to educate his children, and after she consented, Valentine's commander's children, the Lightwoods. The pale orange haired woman pivoted, stalking to- and- fro with her book before her and she drilled out facts like a sergeant, her other hand at the back of her hip, leaning back as she moved about the front of the room. She caught bits and pieces of this lesson, and knew she would be able to skirt out of any dangerous situation the instructor might turn on her if she should notice her inattentive nature today.

Her grandmother was an attentive woman, intelligent, too, and though she had never run off head first into battle like her husband or daughter, Adele Fairchild made up for it with her vast knowledge, and often spoiled her grandchildren, letting Clary in particular get away with everything under the sun so long as it wouldn't get her into too much trouble.

She would risk it. The day outside the window and the world in her own mind were just too intriguing. Idly, her hand floated along the paper, drawing out flowers that she fancied woven through a lovely woman's hair as she thought about a Faerie Queen in all her splendor, walking around in the world of decay outside, her mind far away as her maternal grandmother moved from the fae court legends on to something more of substantial value.

_**"And so the Vampires built an iron-clad citadel with the fallen corpses of their victim, closing themselves off to our forces. True we could not reach them, but they left themselves without food as well. What has happened to them, who could ever know for certain?"**_

The only upside of her enduring these day to day lessons was that it was one of the few times she saw anyone other than her brother and her father, as the resources for good instructors was in limited supply; those that were good enough to teach, for the most part, fought on, and died before the ripe age of teaching others what they had learned, and so it fell upon her grandparents to instruct them, all four of them. It was her single daily socialization, her only obligation that dragged on for what felt like eternities but in reality was only the morning hours between breakfast and lunch. So this left the young girl with ample enough hours on her own. It was rather funny, that in her lonely hours she wanted something to occupy her time, but here she was, occupied and wanting nothing more than to run off.

The class moved on without her, unbeknownst to Clary, far away in dreamland, as she watched the way the woman on her paper seemed to move in the dying trees, in the pale flowers beneath the trunks. Her brother, too, was not in the studies today, leaning back in his chair, with his feet kicked up on the table disrespectfully.

_**"And where would you find yourself a warlock, should you ever find yourself in need of such a thing?" Adele asked the children, overlooking the group as if they all ought to jump up with excitement to her question. Either of her grandchildren would do, but both were content to look elsewhere and pay their own thoughts more attention than her.**_

_**"It's a trick question." **_The small voice almost scared her, making her jump as a soft tenor erupted from the Lightwood boy. Alec rubbed tiredly at his eyes; he really needed to get Isabelle to leave him alone about this whole Jace thing, or else he'd start falling asleep in lessons, _**"You wouldn't find a warlock, unless it was still with its human mother. We haven't come across a living warlock that was past adolescence since Valentine razed the accords. They've either all died or dispersed." **_

Jonathan snorted, pressing back on two chair legs. He was so glad that soon he would start training for the front lines of battle, that he wouldn't have to listen to this old hag drone on. True, it was his grandmother,_** "Either way, good riddance."**_

But he didn't give a _damn _about her, or anyone else for that matter, save for Clary, for that matter. It always came down to what would make Clary happy. He eyed her, ever curious about what went on in the girl's head. She seemed far away, untouchable, but truly she always was.

Clary still hadn't asked Isabelle, or Alec for that matter, where they had gone after her mother was abducted, only taking her father's words for their face value; the Lightwoods went to a safe house, as there were too many key players in one house that Valentine felt that it became too unsafe for them all to remain. It was too much that his two children had to live together now without Jocelyn around to watch one of them, but Valentine had few choices. He refused to leave one of them unattended.

Their loss had probably more to do with her loneliness than that of her missing mother.

Deep in her meditation, the garnet haired girl wondered how long this peaceful set up would last. Often, Maryse Lightwood would abandon her children here for short periods of time, but by far this was the longest they had been without their mother for certain. It was almost two years now since she had gone, and though there was frequent correspondence, the children seemed changed, isolated. It was what she had seen in Jace that night, truthfully, what she had felt somehow from miles away. That single heart crying out in such pain that she couldn't help but follow its cry and soothe it in anyway she could.

Her breath caught in her throat, her form a ball of kinetic energy ready to burst outward, sizzling at the edges of her muscles. There, in the courtyard was her father, leading a lanky boy with golden hair, the wind catching their hair and tossing it about.

_Jace!_

The boy seemed to belong in this world, surrounded by lovely golds, russets and brown, and he trudged along behind Valentine with a suitcase barely large enough to carry more than a few outfits, his other hand deep in his leather jacket's pocket. His pose was tense as he followed their father towards the garden patio beneath the canopy of trees.

Clary hadn't seen Jace since his birthday several months ago. It had actually been the last time she had seen her father for more than a fleeting moment as well, as he yanked her from the mattress and dragged her from the house unconscious, and upon waking up, kicking and screaming. She had fought him the entire way home, demanding he bring Jace back with them, crying about the awful way he looked as he was left all alone again. Her feet moved without her control, her hands tightening to fists against the desk table.

The entire roomed turned, watching her anxiously, even Jonathan with his impassive black eyes. Her brother set all four chair legs back on solid ground, as he shifted again in his seat, ready to throw himself at anything and anyone that had set her a-stir.

The young girl stood up abruptly, knocking her chair away as she threw herself to the window, "JACE!"

The boy outside seemed to have heard her, and he whipped around, turning a golden head of hair and a softly tanned face towards where she stood, hands grasping the window as she pressed as close as she could get without touching the window panes.

"CLARISSA SERAPHINA MORGANSTERN!" Her grandmother's voice screeched, demanding her attention again, but Clary couldn't help herself, she was so excited. She smiled widely to him, and laughed, really laughed, so excited to see him that she couldn't contain it.

Dressed in a yellow dress today, Jace could make her out from the gardens that Valentine led him through. He paused, stiffly raising his hand to greet her as he saw a sickly thin figured woman yank her from her place and nod to the men outside.

"I'm sorry, Nana!" Clary cried, dodging out of the woman's hold, bolting for the door. The old woman couldn't stop her, or any of the children that followed her either, rushing after Clary. She gave a sharp cry, begging them to return, futilely however, and only Jonathan remained, but only for a moment. He came to the window as well, to see what the fuss was about, and touched the woman's shoulder with an air of dismissal.

"I will be needed elsewhere, I am certain. Father often has need of me when he returns. Perhaps we will see each other later tonight."

Valentine shook his head, leading his adopted son away towards the courtyard entrance, holding the door open for him. He followed silently, coming back into the house that made him feel hollow inside.

His father gestured for him to make himself comfortable in a chair and went further into the house, abandoning his son in the pillared room, half secluded from the elements. He had, after all, much to accomplish this night. He was a very busy man, and he only became busier the more children he brought into his home.

XOX

Waiting was always the worst thing for Jace. It seemed like a waiting game, and he was on the losing end. Sitting in the patio seating was peaceful at the very least. The wind blew softly, rustling the trees like a gentle gourd instrument. The sound echoed softly and sharply all at once as all of the deciduous trees sang their song of loss and rebirth, bitter and sweet to those that knew to listen to it. Jace looked to the water where he knew nothing lived nor ever would, and the willows that surrounded it. He wondered how long he would be made to wait, if it would be long enough that he joined in with the trees himself.

Leaning back, he let his eyes drift closed, thinking of what the girl must be up to these days. Valentine had called upon him to return to the Morganstern mansion for good; apparently the funds to keep it up and running were astronomical, and it had the man worried for his safety. He had already brought the Lightwoods back to the home, as well as Jonathan, and they all were immersed in studies. In a few short days, Alec and Jonathan would start up their regimental training as well to be Shadow hunters, and he was welcome to join them now.

But should he? Jace had until next August to begin and he wasn't yet the legal age to begin, but he didn't enjoy the prospect of being left behind by either boy, his brother or his friend. No, he would definitely be joining them for lessons. That was already decided, and Valentine had been ecstatic that he had accepted to press forward sooner rather than later.

But what would he do now, living in the house with Clary only a few rooms away. He had promised distance with his daughter, and now this close, she was sure to press the issue, and he didn't want either of them in any trouble. Could he turn himself cold to her advances, make her think that whatever had passed between them was nothing but fancy?

He didn't want to, but he would do what he had to to protect Clary, even if it broke her heart.

A new noise distracted him from his inner turmoil, something similar to what one might think faerie dust might sound like, but wet, like it was dampened by the sea. The amber eyed boy looked to the abandoned lake just in time to see the distortion of a ripped portal sealing over the lake behind a darkly dressed woman with long ebony hair.

She was moving across the courtyard now, and something in the way she moved reminded him of someone, somehow. It seemed like the rippling tide of waves, fluid and graceful and quickly gaining ground. She swayed softly, her round hips moving more than was necessary in her saunter, or perhaps it was, as she made no noise as she approached. If not for the portal opening, Jace wouldn't have even noticed her until she was upon him. It wasn't until he'd caught sight of her brilliant, piercing blue eyes that he recognized and could put a face to where he had seen someone move like that.

_'She must be their mother...'_ Jace found himself thinking as she crossed over the paused a moment, seeing the boy in the corner suddenly, and waved softly before going into the house. Both Isabelle and Alec took after their mother. It was impossible not to place her now, the resemblance was that uncanny.

Isabelle had once confided that her mother was who had renamed him. Apparently, Jonathan Christopher had been a very popular name for Shadow hunters, the first after their founder, Jonathan Shadow hunter; the second from_ Christo _which meant Christ and p_her _which meant to carry, which all Shadow hunters had accepted would be a strong name.

Somehow, the cards played out that two of many, many children of a similar name would end up in the same household. Maryse argued that they ought to shorten it, as Morganstern's son had been the first to reset the trend, and offered up _Jace _as what she would have called him, had he been taken to her to be brought up. She disliked the pretentiousness to the name, Isabelle explained, and thought even Jonathan ought to revoke the name, but would not suggest such a thing to Morganstern herself.

A movement at the door had him out of his seat, running for one of the trees to hide. If it were Clary he wouldn't hear the end of it.

Alec stepped outside, shielding his pale eyes as he looked around the green and gold scenery in search of Jace. Catching him, he darted after him, tackling him playfully as the boy almost made it to his hiding spot. He flipped them around three times as they grappled, before Jace even realized who had hit him from behind.

With a huge smile, he embraced the boy he hadn't seen in months, and cried, laughing, as Alec grasped at the hair at the back of his ear. He looked half to tears himself, "It's good to be home at home, finally."

The boy on top of him smiled and wrapped his arms around him, holding him close. The heartbeat that thrummed against his was hard, but so right. It soothed his inner turmoil, and Jace had no idea he would ever feel this at peace, laying on top of another boy. "It is."

Finally... at home... His head rested against the boy's shoulder, as Alec lay peacefully beneath him, playing with his hair idly, "When your ready, I have to show you something. It's the most important thing I... the best thing I have experienced here..."

Smiling Jace nodded, "Alright. But let me be for now. I just came home finally."

His response was a soft rumble from the young man he laid on, a shifting, and a deeper embrace, the idle arms coming to hold him.

He might be a homeless orphan, but he could make this his home...

XOX

The pale man shook, holding his outstretched arm like an offending attack on his person. Perhaps it was the case...he had just shot himself up. He felt nauseated and the whole room spun. His son stood off in the corner, looking at him with disgust, and why not? He was an addict getting his fix, with not a care in the world of who saw what might bring him to his knees.

Pushing back in his chair, the father let his head roll back as the waves of cold wash over him. He hated this part, the moments right after. It was the fall first, before he was able to crawl out of the pit. In these next few hours, he would be at his weakest. He had chosen to do this now as he had not one of his warrior children but two to defend his home, with Maryse not far off. She was due to return by midnight, and he wanted to to be at his best for when she dragged her trappings with her.

"Awesome fucking birthday, father, thanks." A brilliant light shone down on him like a searchlight, and he winced. Somethings were better left in the dark. It was a motto he kept religiously when it came to his delving into his stores of angelic blood and demon ichor, but his son could care less. He glared daggers at the man that called himself his father. Valentine hardly blamed him. How many people could say that their father celebrated your advancement in life by altering you and himself?

"Language, Jonathan. I've taught you better than that."

His hand drifted a moment to his pocket, where the syringe sat, his 'birthday gift'. One of many presents that he was unwilling to accept. He wasn't an addict, not like his father, and he refused to stoop to his level.

"They're coming back, you DO know that, right? Maryse sent a fire message earlier," his son shuffled his feet in the thick carpet, idling near the door, "Loads of kids, this time. Close to the Bone Palace. You're in no position to receive them. Too big of a hit, this time."

Valentine had moved forward with his plan to eradicate the human race by replacing man with Nephillim shortly after seizing control of the Clave, and had his men dragging hoards of human children back to Idris to be changed by the Mortal Cup. Whole mansions were filled to the brim with bedridden children, the owners of the houses forced to care for the children that made it through the transition.

The Bone Palace was one of five great kingdoms spread across the lands that safe-housed the last of the Downworlders. Sure, there were more compounds that they knew of, but only four of them were truly frightening enough, the fifth lost them forever. But why chase after a group of monsters that had abandoned this world? They were no longer a substantial threat, the warlocks in their Spiral Labyrinth, and so it left him and his forces to turn their focus on those which might be if they gained enough of a strong hold.

Like the Glass City of Idris, Alicante, the Bone Palace was formed by layer upon layer of corpses and safe-guarded those within entirely, so that none but those 'invited' in could ever hope to enter, but their similarities ended there. The Bone Palace was built on the dead which the vampires had drained to husks and turned to some impenetrable material that fused together, much like steely colored glass, which the Shadow hunters had yet to figure out the substance of. The entire compound was sealed off from the outside world, which Valentine supposed was quite intelligent; why not block out a sun when you had no need of it? That being said, the focus of Alicante had been the elimination of the vampires only food source for some time, and their culling for children for the Nephillim cause had been centered there. Most raids were unsuccessful these days, leading Valentine to suspect that they might have all gone into hiding, or perhaps the vampires had grown wise and dragged what they could into their strong hold.

Either way, it was now a waiting game. Eventually, they would starve them out.

"Would you like me to debrief Lady Lightwood for you while you sober up, father?" Jonathan turned those dark, unloving eyes on him. He wondered often if he and Jocelyn were the only ones to see the evil lurking behind his gaze, especially where he and Clarissa were concerned. The girl seemed unfazed by it now, perhaps supporting of it if not coddling.

A knock came upon the door, and Jonathan growled, wrenching it open. A well built woman in all black from neck to stilletoed toe stood in the doorway, running her hands through her long black hair as she leaned, shapely against the frame, tugging the water from her locks over her jacketed right shoulder. As she moved, the two boys could see water stains on her black tank beneath her bomber jacket and her pants from waist to knee where her boots began looked worn and formed to her strong thighs.

"No, I'll debrief myself, thanks." her voice was commanding, with an underlying warm and motherly affection and she stood up straight, a wide swing to her hips as she prowled in. It was amazing how intimidating and in control the woman looked at any given moment, like a dominatrix she was powerful in any situation. She pushed into the office, her warm hand coming down like a vice on his son's shoulder before she whipped him unceremoniously from the room, slamming the door in his face and setting the lock behind her.

Valentine looked to the woman for the first time, a mopey smile spreading over his thin lips. She was always a welcome face. Always loyal to a fault, she had loved him, always. She had been devout in her affections, loving him before her own husband, perhaps. It was, after all what drove the wedge between them that had gotten Robert killed.

She crawled up into his lap, all tight leather against firm curves. She was a seductress sent to lure him from his wife, and Valentine let her pick up the void that Jocelyn had left behind.

"Now," she purred, pulling out her stele. She pressed the cold tip to his forearm where it had begun to go bloodshot, blackened veins staining his pale flesh, drawing a quick healing rune over the oozing hole where he had pressed the needle into his arm, "Where did we leave off, my king?"

_XOX_

Jonathan glared at the door, knowing that such a woman had so much gall that she would shove her prince from a room, that his father would allow it.

His pocket weighed heavily, and his hand came to rest over the vial he had stolen from his father's office some time back, beside the needle that held so many connotations and expectations, and was required to obey, regardless of his feelings.

Something moved behind him on the stairwell. Before he even heard her, Clary was on him, pressing herself against his back, her arms wrapping around his waist.

"Clary!" the boy cried, turning abruptly around. His small sister was quiet on her own without the aid of runes. With them, she would be damn near impossible to keep track of. It must have been how she had gotten so close to him now, so near that he could feel the soft, minty gale of her breath, could hear the thrum of her pulse beneath her flesh as it taunted him. It was like her body knew how to call to his, how to bring out a monster she had no idea she had on a short leash.

_**The thing about monsters on leashes, **_Jonathan thought with mild humor as he looked at the only family he would ever hope to claim, her hands seeking his, her softness stark against the hard lines he was so used to. He turned to look at her face, spinning in her arms to gaze at her. She was the one good thing in his life, the one consistency that never looked at him like a beast, and for her alone he would shoot himself up like an addict, like their father. Because it kept her safe... _**the worst thing, is that eventually, they turn on the hand that holds them. They will always choose freedom to captivity, no matter how lovely an existence.**_

"Have you seen Jace, Jonathan? I've looked everywhere, and I can't seem to-"

Yanking his hands from hers, he pinned her with a dark look that left her wilted, "What am I, Clarissa, his keeper? Sorry to disappoint, little sister, but it was not my turn to watch him."

The attack widened her eyes, and for a moment he felt regretful of hurting her before it ebbed to indifference. She would just have to get over it. The world did not revolve around Jace Herondale. But her's ought to revolve around him.

His young sister turned, walking away from him with a slight rotation to her hips as she floated silently away. He wasn't sure she could ever be noisy, even when she was mad, and the way she moved had him entranced again, in particular the way she seemed fuller now, softer. She always swayed more at the waist when she was mad. It must be a trait from their mother- she did the same thing, and if Jonathan put enough thought into it, he was sure he did the same thing. They were all of a similar bone structure- lithe yet deceptively muscular. The only difference was he would soon tower over both women.

With a snarl, he gave chase, knowing she would only get herself into trouble, rushing down the stairs after her.

_**XOX**_

Clarissa followed behind slightly, and Jace watched on from ten feet back as they descended the stairs. Maryse had been first to lead them from the room, and her son followed her anxiously, telling her everything she had missed at the manor while she had been away. It was good to see the once saddened boy so animated, even if he was clinging. Valentine watched on with a look of mild distaste, and his daughter followed him, her hair pulled back in a small twist, the curls cascading down over the pinning . Jace seemed to have missed some memo as well, as the four of them had dressed up for an occasion.

Clary had on a strapless dress that clung to her breast bone tightly, black as night, before sharply turning to fire where she walked, the movement of her swaying steps making it appear that the dress had caught fire in the light, flickering. Bands of silver wrapped around her biceps, clip and from the backs a sheet mantle of black hung over her back, and a silver circlet nestled across her forehead.

Maryse seemed prepared for such an occasion, as well. Gone was the warrioristic clothing, replaced by something over the top, an off the shoulder number that had appeared to be flame inspired as well, the collar a flash of pale gold fabric that wrapped around her throat, framing her elegantly displayed hair. It was corseted, pressing her breasts firmly upward, and the entire brocade was covered in a swirling flame pattern, gold swirls fading all over the red silk.

Her hand idled on the door, and looked back to how many now followed her. "Jace," her voice was soft, motherly as she turned her bright eyes to him, "Go get dressed. We will only be a moment, and you must be ready for Jonathan's birthday."

Shock overtook him, and Alec sheepishly smiled at him, "I left you an outfit in my room. I forgot to mention it to you earlier."

Nodding stiffly, the boy turned and bolted back up the staircase. Clary wanted to follow him, but if Jonathan found out she went with Jace after demanding her time alone, he would not be pleased with her at all. She had left him in his room, with a promise to fulfill by the end of the night. She remained despite her heart pulling from her breast, making her breathing erratic.

The door swung open then to reveal a large huddled mass of thin children, the group surrounded in a corner of the room by fifteen armed guards. They fell in respect, bowing to their leader as he and his family entered the room.

Only moments passed before Valentine decided that it was time to move forward with this lot.

"Feed them, Clarissa." Valentine commanded, turning around the table as he took in each child's worth, calculating their likelihood to survive. This might be very well the last meal many would consume, and in fact statistics said so. Out of the fifty brought here, they could only hope for fifteen of them to make it through in one piece, any more would be a miracle.

Nodding, the girl stepped up to the group, gathered the young children to her, ushering them to the large table that occupied the middle of the room. Most held onto each other, tears for lost parents bright in all of their eyes as they stumbled to take seats before platters set like a feast. One boy watched her through bug-like lenses, no tears breaking from his bright eyes. He was about her age, and his eyes spoke of intelligence. He didn't fear, he hated. He knew what was happening.

Laddling soup into each of the children's bowls, his eyes never left her, ever rebellious considering the situation he found himself in.

As she approached the boy, his hand steadied hers, and moved it on to the next child's bowl instead of his, his pale face glaring up at hers. Dropping the ladle, Clary jumped back, as the stew she was feeding them spilling across the table and floor. The commotion had all of the adult's attention immediately, and Alec moved toward the boy, intent on protecting the master's daughter

Her father halted his advance, and moved on his own towards the two. The human children were right to fear this man, his cold expression was enough to make her want to cry, and Clary loved her father. She couldn't help but gasp as he yanked the boy out of his seat, forcing him to stand and be assessed in a way that none of the other recruits had.

He seemed to find something in him, and he glanced to his daughter's hands momentarily where they grasped the boys corduroy jacket tightly, her small fists holding him fast right beneath her father's. She stood behind the boy, close to his form, willing him silent, to have a chance. His dark eyes darted to her face, scrunched up slightly from her forced obedience.

"Does he please you, this one, Clarissa?"

Her gaze did not leave that boy, but her silence was affirmation enough. With a nod, Morganstern released him, shoving him gently against his daughter's chest. She steeled as he came against her, holding both up right as he almost knocked them both over.

"What's your name boy?" Valentine stalked around him, weighing the boys worth. He was thin and tall, nothing much to look at, but the defiance in his eyes was an honorable quality. A stupid one, albeit, but one full of worth. If he was so full of conviction in their first meeting, he was sure that actual reason would have him a true enemy in no time.

With the darkest of looks she had seen turned on her father, he growled, "Simon Lewis, and I'll have you know that I don't make it a habit of consorting with Nephillim scum."

A hand cracked him across the face with the force he knew so intimately was associated with these people. His head snapped with the hand, and his vision blurred and blacked out in splotches, his glasses aerial and skidding across the tile before he could save them.

A girl, new to the group came to stand beside a boy who had followed the sweet looking red head in with their leader, obviously the glaring man's children's entourage. Her red coated manicured fingers smoothed an unseen wrinkle in the skirt of her just off-the shoulder red-orange, long sleeved dress that fell like a sheath to her knees, and jumped when the glasses hit her heels. Tentatively she looked around, before she crouched down, picking them up. She watched him with dark eyes, curious about what had encouraged the man's wrath this time. Her mouth fell open softly, full red lips trembling gently as she stood back up, tucking the glasses into the pocket placed at her hips, at either side of her waist. He turned to glance at her momentarily, before he adverted his eyes. She was just another Nephillim. They were all lovely, weren't they? Wearing the skin of heaven, they deceived and cut down any in their way.

It didn't matter that her beauty made his heart tighten painfully, she was still an enemy, just like the thin girl that grasped at his jacket sleeve, tight at the elbow. He could sense the tension in her arms, and wondered what_ she _had to fear.

"Your one with my household now, boy. Best you take a few moments and try to remember that for next time. I won't be so lenient should you speak to me or mine in that manner again."

With that the man nodded to another behind the door as he walked briskly out. A surge of Shadow hunters rushed forth past their leader in the doorway, like the morning tide around a boulder, seizing children from their chairs and dragging them off towards a door opposite the one Valentine stood occupied in.

Isabelle gave a sharp gasp as the movement made her leap away towards the wall as some children attempted a mad dash for escape, only to succumb to the superior speeds of the adults and Alec too, stepped aside, holding his sister by her shoulders, shielding her from the people that surged all around them. They had come for Jonathan's birthday dinner, knowing that they were expected to be here here. What they had walked into, however, was something farther than either imagined.

Her father paused, looking back with a wide smile that made her stomach flop. He often smiled that way right before Jace or Jonathan attacked each other and blood was spilled. Over his shoulder, he held the door frame and watched her for a moment longer before imparting fleeting knowledge to his daughter, might she take them to heart, "It's been long proven that those that have someone seeing to them, someone caring for them during such a dreadful time, tend to make it through in larger percentages than those that are struggling to hold on for themselves. You know what you must do."

He left without further ado, the air thick with her options. She could leave and let him die, or she could fight for him to live, but either way she would be the instrument which decided his survival. Cries and screams filled the air as one by one the young ones were snatched up, and Clary was shoved to the side as one small girl darted away, forcing her hand. She moved forward, rushing the brown haired boy and scooping him up into her arms as she ran with the current of adults with her charge neatly with her.

The boy fought her only momentarily before accepting his fate, clinging onto the brave girl. She was beautiful, Simon acknowledged, and the thin amber and silver circlet that rested on her upper forehead accented the lovely gold flecks in her green eyes, and she was determined, so much so that he only had hope he would get to see the cause, and followed her breathlessly away, clinging to her forearm. She was strong, an attribute to the angel that fathered her, he supposed, and decided that if any of these people would hurt him, it was least likely that she would, the girl that fought for him.

It was no wonder that the children on the streets glared at her with such hate, the way they were treated. It was bad enough to be stolen from their families, but it never ended there. Statistics said that one in ten would survive the night in tact. More might live, but their existence could be bleak and painful, to the point that most would be put out of their misery by a firing squad hungry for death. They wouldn't know how many of this lot would make it until probably a week or so. But it was the first twenty four hours that made a difference after they were forced to choke down the life water of the Mortal Cup.

The room that the children were herded into was the Grand Ballroom, a magnificent room with a vaulted ceiling, a large crystal chandelier hanging from a spiral that dripped from the vault, looking like a water droplet about to fall. The light from the candles sent a glorious array of colors across the room, swaying gently with the wind from the window that had been opened about twelve feet in the air that went all the way around the room slightly over a third up the wall, casting the sun's setting radiance across the intricate wall-work. Clary always found this room a wonder, and often thought about the disuse of it. True, there were few reasons to celebrate that her father acknowledged, but this room begged to be used, to be remembered. The young woman in her longed to see this room at its splendid height, brimming with people in silks and satin and chiffon, moving in unison. It was, after all what this room was always meant to be, not a sick room.

Beds lined across the room in a grid like formation, cold and separated from each other by a four foot aisle and one after another, the Mortal cup was forced to their lips, and one after the other, they fell beneath its spell, thrown into the next mattress for the long haul, adults handcuffing them to the bed frames.

Clary had never had observed the phenomenon of the change, only knew it from the small details she had heard. She couldn't believe that she would have to partake, that her hands would hold the legendary cup and force this life on another human being.

Simon watched her, as the screaming subsided and the children were dragged once more from the only exit to be put into their own beds, handcuffed to the iron bed frames. All were accounted for now, and only Simon remained untouched. He took a tentative step back, suddenly afraid of the small redheaded girl as a man with chocolate red hair passed the cup into her small hands. Would she force it on him, as the adults had done with the others? He couldn't hope to be spared, it wasn't in their nature.

The children all moved in unison, it was true, the agony taking hold at just about the same time, racking them all the same in seizing fits, and they writhed like a sea of the dying. Many were already choking on vomit, some turning to find an adult to care for them, to embrace them. Most found nothing but emptiness to reassure them, but some, the more magnificent of the children, were seen to.

Her stern, soft voice shocked him, as she turned her back to him. "Come with me."

As she turned away, her flame colored dress swished and appeared to catch fire, turning red in the light of the sun as it touched her, her small form pivoting and gliding away, and the young boy followed like a lost lamb, stumbling behind her, his hand on the wall as he rushed after her up the stairs, "Will it hurt?"

Clary seemed to have lost her voice as she led him along corridors and down empty hallways, luxuriously furnished the deeper they went, "Most likely."

Her voice seemed dark, foreboding to her and she hesitated and turned, feeling like she was making a mess of things, "I will see you through, though, Simon. I don't make it a habit of breaking my word."

The girl saw him to a luxurious room, the walls papered in a brilliant blue Gothic pattern, stark black molded forms texturing the smooth surface. A large bed sat with a matching black and blue bedspread, and he mildly wondered who's room this might have been until the slight woman shut the door behind him. She moved smoothly to the bedside table, setting the cup down preciously, and gestured him to the neat bed before she moved to the fireplace, cranking the flue open beside the outcropping in the brick wall before igniting the stacks of logs already sitting in the rack.

Simon watched her, silently calculating everything. She made no movement against him, and when she turned again, she looked somber, dragging a high backed red velvet chair to the bedside and settled into it.

"Aren't you going to force me to drink from that cup like your people did with all those other kids?"

"No need." Her voice rang with finality, as she leaned back, folding her knees regally. She looked every bit the monarch here, as she regarded him, her hands folding against her lap and he realized that his initial assessment had been correct- this _was_ her home, which meant that man had been her father, and perhaps this was her room as well. Tilting his face, Simon looked at her with confusion pulling his forehead taught, and Clary softly smiled, reassuringly at him, but it didn't quite reach her eyes, "You will either drink of the cup now or you will be forced to later. Or perhaps you will be killed in the slaughter tomorrow morning when they find you still in tact, because you rebutted our king."

She shifted from the seat to the mattress, and patted the spot beside her, pulling back the blankets, "No, I will not force your hand. Not ever, Simon Lewis. But what I will do is tell you the truth- it is a much better choice to take my offer, my kindness, as no one else will be likely to help you now that you've made a stand before my father."

Her bright eyes watched him in the faint light of the fire, and Simon knew that this girl spoke no lies. Coming to sit beside her, he raised the glass, his lips jumping at the cool touch as the freezing liquid poured over his tongue, down his throat.

Clary's hands shot forward, lifting the cup for him, and their eyes held true as he took in what he would before he began choking, the clear fluid spilling down his chin to stain the dark tee-shirt he wore, and he turned abruptly, retching across the plush red carpet. The girl came up behind him, placing the cup back on the table, embracing him from behind as her hands splayed through his wavy brown hair lovingly.

Often when she was sick, her mother had done this. She remembered how encouraging it was, how safe it felt, to have someone embrace you in these small, dark moments. Soon, his breathing grew heavy and the shaking began, seizing up his entire body. He sweat, profusely, and Clary rolled him back into the covers, settling the fabric over him as he fell to slumber made torturous by the changes ripping through his body.

A noise at the door made her attention divert, and she pulled away to leave, but as she went to stand away from him, his hand apprehended the fabric that draped behind her, holding her close. She knew what he wanted, and despite what he might have thought, she hadn't wanted to leave him quite yet.

Instead, she was forced to remain. Looking back as the knocking became much more intense, she called out softly, "Come in!"

XOX

Jonathan had looked everywhere for his sister. She hadn't been at dinner either, and his father had been absent as well from the small feast. Isabelle had alluded that they were perhaps busy with the new recruits, but he had found it doubtful. His father often abandoned his responsibility of him for something better that came along. Clary's absence was what really bothered him, however. The Lightwoods had been charming enough, and Jace had been his usual, handsome self, but he wished for his sister's company. As each silence descended upon them, he could hear the screaming cries coming from another room, and every time, his chest tightened, thinking that one could be here.

He had excused himself to search for her after the third course, snagging two slices of the strawberry-covered vanilla cake as he began his search in all of her usual haunts.

Every time he came up empty handed, his tight chest hurt him all the more as panic gave way. Where could she be. As he passed his bedroom door on the way to her bedroom next door, he noticed that it had been shut up tight. He had left the door ajar when he had left, knowing that they were going to have to be quiet.

His face contorted as he heard a noise within, and he knocked rapidly, upset that someone had gone into his room without his consent. No one answered, so he knocked harder this time, more demanding.

A soft acknowledgement murmured from the other side, his sister's voice, and he shoved the door open, intent on making a point. The room within was dark, lit only by the firelight. She looked lovely, just as she had the first time she had worn the dress he had bought her, and the flame caught her on fire, illuminating her eyes in the only way he knew they could. Her lips parted, as she stumbled silently on her words, the seductress in his bed, and he approached, abandoning his irritation.

As soon as his black eyes laid on her in bed with another boy against her back, his heart snapped, and cold filled his entire being. Gone was that pain in his chest, gone was the anxiety, carving out room for something much sinister.

Jonathan snarled at her, showing his distaste as he tossed the cake onto the bedside table, "I hope he was an_** excellent **_fuck, little sister."

And with that he rushed out of his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

XOX

He was slipping, and fast. She had no idea what to do, only that in a few short hours his life would snuff away and there was little to do. Without thinking of the consequences, she snatched her brother's stele and marked a perseverance rune on his shoulder, the symbol much like a fleeing man to her as she cut it into him, watching the blood swell up under his skin under her inexperienced hand. The thick crimson welled, dripping languidly down his arm, pooling in his up turned hand from where she had taken his pulse, and as she watched it, Clary missed the darkening of the edges of the cut, the dark muting the colors.

Live... she hoped, she prayed, putting all of her will into him.

His breath was shallower than it ought to be.

Leaning in, she innocently hugged herself against the boy. If the cup did not take, what she just did...it might turn him into some monster.

She screamed when his arm wrapped around her waist weakly, holding her against him.

His eyes opened, staring blankly at the white ceiling, just as the fever began to break, leaving him frozen inside. Simon's arms tightened around her, banding her to his side as he rolled, intent on sleeping somewhat uncomfortably through the night.

Clary sighed, touching his head softly as she laid her head to rest beside his, watching him silently as his eyes flickered behind his long lashes.

_**This was going to be a long night... **_she found herself thinking, as she settled down for the long haul, his head pillowed against her arm.

XOX

His fist slammed on the door. He was beyond furious, the rage filled him entirely, and it made him feel better, knowing he would take it out on someone else she loved.

How dare she? Didn't she understand what her promises meant to him? No one came to the door, and so Jonathan invited himself in, pressing into the dark room. A head of golden curls laid splayed out across the dark sheets, and the boy softly panted as he slept, his lips slight agape as his breath came in as a soft snore. It was cold in the room, and the boy had turned in on himself, his hands grasping his pillow and blankets to him.

If he couldn't destroy one, then he would gladly destroy the other. He had sworn to protect Clary, but Jace was something entirely different- nothing protected him.

Wrathfully, he yanked the angelic boy from his slumber. Jace was late in waking, confused about what had attacked him. His hands flew in defense still, swinging to protect himself, clawing Jonathan down the arm. His vision focused minutely, and he breathed out, confusion ebbing away as he realized who hefted him from the bed, "Jonathan... what are you-"

The other boy socked him in the face, knocking him into the armoire that housed his few outfits and fewer possessions. He stood, dazed, leaning heavily against the wood chest, and as the other boy rounded on him again, he dived downward, dodging lower than he needed to, and his feet took him out by the legs. Jonathan collapsed on top of him and his knees caught the other boy in the chest.

Furious, the two scrambled on their own, circling each other before they crashed together once more, grappling as they had done when they were young boys. Snarling, Jonathan pushed one of their arms upward, and they both slipped, crumbling against one another. Jace's mouth moved in surprise, lips moving against his seductively. Jonathan's hands released him, slamming him to the wall as he continued the kiss, his eyes drifting closed.

Shocked, he pulled away slightly, his breathing erratic as he panted over the other boy's flushed lips. He had never been kissed before, not like that. His mouth was on fire, and something in him was tightening, ready to snap.

Blood rushed through his ears, and the boy leaned foward again, desperate for the feeling again, pressing his lips against Jace's, easing the beast within. If Clary wasn't the only one to soothe this monstrocity that ruled over him...

The golden haired boy gave a yelp of suprise, and Jace tried to pull sharply away, shifting as he attempted to slide off of the wall that Jonathan had pressed him into. The elder boy had him efficiently pinned however, and when he did get away, Jonathan simply just slammed him against the brown wall again, hips crashing against his in a way that made a violent chill run up his spine. Scratch that, it was his hand, carressing its way up to cup the base of his head

"Come on..." Jonathan whispered breathily, his hand creeping up to cup the boy's occipital bone in his skull, fingers stroking the gentle junture of head and neck. His lips came to pout right above his, and Jace could feel the soft wispy air from the other boy's mouth panting over his as his finger came to caress Jace's full lips. His hips shifted against him, anchoring them both to the wall, and his arm caged his face as he splayed his hand over the golden head, "It's my birthday..."

_**Authors Note: YAAAAAYTTT! Chapter 2 everybody! Thank you sooo much for reading! On to reviewers!**_

_** CoffeeLovingOtaku: Clary is 7 (born in August) when she and Jace first meet, Jace turns in 8 (January), and I'm gonna pitch that Jonathan/Sebastian is 8 going on 9, if not 9 already, SOOOOO That would make Alec 9 as well, (He's only a few months older than Seb.) and Isabelle would be 6 (Born in December), just a few months shy of Clary. They come back together for Jace's 9th birthday, the year before he will begin training for being a Shadowhunter.**_

_**L.V. (keeps editing out your name): Thank you so much dearie!**_

_**And yes...yes... YES... I will be shipping Sebclace here. The kiss at Clary's birthday was more innocent than it probably came out as, but I want to emphasize how much it bothered Jace, even if he doesn't understand why, but the kiss was intimate, not passionate. Jonathan (I keep wanting to call him Sebastian so desperately, but that entity wouldn't exist yet, would it?) and Jace are just old enough to have sexual desires (I know, awkward considering they're still kids) whereas Clary is not, and won't be willing to return such feelings for at least 2-4 years. Despite this, they themselves are affectionate, and are striving for female attention, and oh look, the only girls around are Clary and Isabelle.**_

_**Preemptive strikes: After the time jump in this chapter, it starts in the October before Jace's 10th birthday, particularly the day before Jonathan's 10th birthday.**_

_**Adele Fairchild and Granville Fairchild (Jocelyn's parents) are still alive. With no need to appear dead, Valentine never had to kill them, nor Michael Wayland or his son. So they're all running around still, doing Shadow hunter things.**_

_**Valentine can pretty much assess the groups brought in and figure out who will live by now. The general statistic is one in 10, but because they probably came from the Vampire's feeding source, they're better off, probably stronger because they're used to being used. This also explains part of their fear- they were so used to the Vampires telling them of the big bad Nephillim, that when they were captured, they just become terrified, but they're just kids, they can't fight back against adults. Out of the group culled, Simon was probably the oldest.**_

_**Alec and Jace front: I can't help myself. I like the dynamic between them, and the bittersweet romance from Alec's side pretty much makes Malec so much better.**_

_**Jace and Jonathan front: As I said earlier, this FF will be Sebclace. Which means that there will be some Sebastian x Jace in here, or JonathansX2**__**. There is going to be romance between all three of them. Sorry if this is a shock to any readers.**_

_**Any questons, hit me up. Once again, I thank everyone for reading, anonymously or not, you are my fuel. The more response this gets, the more I want to get it out to you guys.**_

_**Share the Love!**_

_**Review, Follow, Fave!**_

_**Till Next Time**_

_**TAORI**_


	3. Have a Secret, Will You Keep it?

_**Have a Secret, Will You Keep It?**_

Jace breathed in like he had broken the surface of a great lake, struggling for air as asphyxiation swept over him. The other boy kissed him so fiercely he had barely enough time to gasp for breath between crashing lips and biting teeth, scorching hands stripping him bare.

Between milliseconds of air, the Morgenstern son could feel his partner murmur his name into his open mouth as his tongue cut off his complaints. Jace's strong hands tightened in the collar of his shirt, loosening it open by force alone and was rewarded by a hand that wrapped loosely around his throat, directing him gently.

Jonathan shifted him expertly back towards the bed, unwilling to break them apart from one another. His hands feverishly brushed down the other boy's chest, plucking the buttons open as he went farther and further south. His hips bullied Jace's, and as he advanced on the boy; Jace willingly fell in line, stumbling backwards as the taller boy prowled after him hungrily, a game of cat and mouse. His top fell open, and the other boy brushed it further apart, until it fell halfway down his arms, leaving him bare to the waist. It gave him a few moments of peace as the dark-eyed boy gave appreciation a moment's pause before he pursued him again. They fell in a tangled mess, arms and legs crashing together as they came into each other, curves and angles melding into one another as Jonathan kissed Jace senseless, pinning him effectively down with his shifting hips and restless hands.

Jonathan desperately wanted to not scare the smaller boy off. He was trying to advance slowly with him, and though he was far from broaching the subject of sex, or wanting it from the boy for that matter, the heated kissing had him bothered, and he knew he was getting aggressive with his soft touches and open- ended kisses.

No one but Clary ever made him feel this way, and he wouldn't have thought that this boy would soothe him so. In truth, Jace often times had riled him in ways that drove him to go and beat the shit out of servant or whatever else he could happen to find that wouldn't fight back, that didn't matter to him. To know he could have the opposite effect, to give him such clarity... it was an amazing discovery.

The white haired boy touched him, groaning deeply, a guttural sound that sounded positively feral and animalistic. Impure thoughts raced through his mind, making his heart race as Jonathan's lips crushed themselves against his throat, teasing his darting tongue over his Adam's apple, and clarity settled over him long enough for him to put everything back together, and reality crashed hard around him.

"I don't like boys!" His cry was sharp, much more so than he intended it to be, breathily rushed but perhaps desperation to relinquish that knowledge had rushed him to harshly deliver it and he had no other choice.

Pulling back, Jonathan's face scrunched up, and he looked at Jace with his confusion reflecting back to him in his black, black-

Looking closer, Jace saw a change in his eyes that wasn't there before, green ebbing around the deep black pits, a slight change that isolated his pupil from the iris. There were flecks in his eyes, too, lightening the darkness in them. He was lost in observation until Jonathan laughed, "Neither do I."

"We ought to stop then..." Jace reasoned, leaning into the pillows around his head. The boy pulled away briefly, and Jace felt bad that he might have hurt the other man's feelings. His eyes betrayed nothing as the dark orbs searched, probing for answers Jace was certain not to be able to give him properly.

"I won't hurt you..." his voice broke, and in that moment, the pale boy hated himself deeply, as his hand came up, brushing the soft golden curls from his face, "I- I... I... just want... this..."

His hand splayed over Jace's bare chest above his heart, the fingertips curling slightly as if to grasp the thrumming organ, and it rushed against the caress, trying its damndest to escape the cage of his ribs. He leaned on to his forearm, pressing his lips back to the left clavicle where the pulse jumped so lovely to the surface, right above his hand.

"Give it to me... I want this, your heart, true." He kissed him again and again, regretless, breathlessly stealing away his sanity once more, "I won't force you, but until you can truly give me what I desire, what I need, return to me. I won't abuse your fealty."

_**XOX**_

A cold breeze whipped around the room, and a dark haired woman looked to the dying fire, the coals doing very little to shed light or warmth in the dark of the night, making her wish she had more forethought in this lapse of judgment. Her hand searched, blindly along the bottom of the bed as she clutched the sheet to her bare, prickling flesh. Her fingers caught the edge of fabric, and with a tug she claimed the thickly woven blanket that folded across the base of the man's bed and whipped her wrist sharply, unfurling it so that it draped over them more comfortably as she settled against Valentine's side once more, melding into the warm flesh of the man she had loved most in this world.

Maryse turned, watching the man as he slumbered, his face so serene, so like the boy she had come to love so many years ago. She wondered how long it had been now since he had let himself fall under this deep a sleep.

She had always loved him, truly they all had. Maryse knew she would lay down everything she had for this man, ever since he had extended the hand of friendship to that young, lonely outcast that no one would speak to. _**The pariah's**_** sister**… She couldn't escape the disgrace her elder brother had brought down on her family's name, and despite how brightly a star she shone, no one cared to see the brilliance beneath knowing where she came from.

_**Stock that valued mundanes above their own kind**__. _They were Shadow hunters, after of Nephilim, and to weaken the line was blasphemous. As it were, Shadow hunters were diminishing in number, weakening in strength. They didn't need something else to worry about taking away their lifestyle.

She had been so dreadfully upset when he had picked Jocelyn, plain and ordinary Jocelyn, to stand at his side. It had been assumed that he, such a magnificent man, would desire a woman of equal caliber, and was crushed to find he didn't have the same high belief in her abilities that she did.

Not that she didn't try her best to prove it to him, and everyone else for that matter. She supposed that's what made Robert fall in love with her for the first time, that desperate need to be acknowledged, and he was so willing to love her that she had let him. It was better to be loved and give half a heart than to be left all alone, wasn't it?

Her husband had followed her blindly and accepted all the dark natured acts she would commit, faithfully supporting her time and time again. It disgusted her sometimes- the way they had fell in line, just so she might get the recognition that might leave her fruitless. They committed many crimes that haunted her when she went to sleep against their own kind, against their charge, mankind.

She couldn't bring herself to regret the pain she brought on the Downworlders.

But she had been alone all this time. She desired a heart that stood so far above her, like an illustrious star that rose up in the sky and though she reached for it with all her might, she always tumbled down, farther away. She should have looked to the man beside her, embraced him and his faithful love that he didn't force upon her. Instead, she turned him from her, content to stand in the shadow of a woman she thought beneath her, although once her friend, hoping that one day she might fall and the light would be hers alone.

How naïve she had been. Even gone, Jocelyn still had the heart, the love that she desired so desperately.

But she would remain, yearning for his affections, and accepting what he gave to her in the form of acceptance, allowing him to destroy her piece by broken piece and taking everything from her, because perhaps one day, she would bask in his light and know her true worth.

_**XOX**_

Gently, light cascaded across the bedspread, the two slumbering boys clutching on to one another, content and unaware of anything but the peace that had settled across them. Neither had slept as well as they had that night, entwined legs and bruised lips left warm by the residual heat between them and the blanket that was haphazardly thrown over them.

A knock came at the door, and it opened without a moment's pause to reveal Isabelle, her face flushed and still in the wrinkled red orange dress from the night before. She came in without invitation, shutting the door behind her with a soft thudding noise, the lock clicking in its housing, "Jace... Jace have you seen Jona-"

The sound of the door had woken the golden-haired boy up and the face propped up groggily, looking to the shocked intruder. She choked on her voice, and surely she must have seen that he did indeed know where the Morgenstern boy had run off to. Still in his rumpled clothes from the day before as well, Jonathan had curled against Jace's side, clinging to the opened pajama top, holding him close.

"I'm so sorry, Jace." The girl quickly rushed towards the door, her hand fumbling the door handle in a manner that made her miss turning it completely in her haste and so the door failed to open. "Let him know his father's looking for him," she rapidly breathed, and she was gone before he could explain, or formulate a plan of attack to silence this. He'd been caught in bed with another boy, another Morgenstern child, and though nothing had happened with either this would get around quick that he had gave no differential treatment to either- he was just a whore.

The children of this family just had perverse tendencies. It wasn't him, it couldn't be. But all the same, he had to silence Isabelle before she ran her mouth to the wrong person. He could only imagine Valentine's response to this.

The dark eyes of the boy beside him struggled to open, wearily watching him as he started to get up. With a soft noise, he let go of the unbuttoned shirt, alerting Jace to his consciousness. Turning, he looked at him, smiling weakly. Half asleep, Jonathan was quite endearing, soft, dark eyelashes fluttering tiredly against his cheek, only rising to half mass as he looked over the expanse of bared flesh exposed to him, exhausted contemplation in his soft, comforted expression. He couldn't throw blame on him, not entirely at least. Everyone wants to feel loved and between the two of the Morgenstern siblings, he doubted that Clary got the short end of the stick. The brother didn't ask for affection, he stole it, like he was a man starving to death and only after he had taken his fill did he beg for him to allow it to continue. Now, the boy seemed perfectly normal, albeit still the twisted son of a bitch he had known all his life, and for once in his life Jace thought that he finally understood what exactly went through his head. He wondered also if that was why they had butted heads so as children- Jace received the love and affection that Valentine's rightful son should have received.

Smiling back at him, Jace brushed the short, cropped white hair back to where it ought to have been, the choppy, full locks a floating mass swished towards his left ear standing slightly on end, but still styled enough to be acceptable.

He responded in a way that Jace expected, letting his eyes drift up to the face that smiled so brightly at him, to the lips that pulled back, still bruised blue from the night before, into what could be considered a lopsided grin. Jonathan leaned in, and pressed his thin lips to Jace's, a silent apology for the damages he had done to the full mouth. Jace didn't respond, simply letting the boy beg for his forgiveness in silence, thinking that to be all the answer he ought to need. After all, Jonathan hadn't asked him anything all night, he had simply taken it. His forgiveness, he would have to work for.

The boy blinked up at him, confused with a fairly discomforted expression that made him seem uncomfortable somehow, but before Jace could ask him what was wrong, the boy pulled away, picking up his abandoned jacket from the floor, trying his best to right his clothes enough.

Without further expression to Jace, he left with a tension in his shoulders as he barked out yet another order, "Get dressed. We're late for the Voyance ceremony."

Jace looked to the window, and saw that indeed it was late in the day, the sun having already risen to almost mid-sky, and rushed about the room trying to put himself into some semblance of order.

_**XOX**_

Alec never considered himself a good looking man, but standing in front of the mirror, he felt like something was staring back at him, something more. Dressed in new gears, a long sleeved cowl necked sweater settling under the tight vest he'd strapped on, he held onto his forearm, turning as he looked at his stark reflection, awed by the strength he saw in himself. He was still the same Alec as he had been the night before, but he knew something was about to change drastically, for the better. He glared back himself, larger than life, and he almost couldn't believe this was really him.

The door behind him slammed open, and he could see his sister, running ragged in the mirror. He smelled her on the wind as well, the smell of ripe pear and vanilla, her perfume of the week, wafting in on the current she brought with her. He looked up from admiring his reflection to stare curiously at her in the polished glass.

"Alec," Isabelle cried out, half out of breath the other half exhilarated, her chest heaving as she leaned heavily against the door frame. He could see she was biting her bottom lip, a sure sign that she couldn't contain herself if he couldn't see the way she lightly bounced with her news. She hadn't had this juicy of gossip in years, not since the last time they had visited here when she had first stumbled on the affair her mother had hidden so well. "You'll never guess what I just saw!"

Alec turned to look at her, hearing the magnificent glimmer in her voice. She looked so excited, that as he turned, he gave her an expecting look, waiting for her to just get on with it; Isabelle was never one to be known to hold her tongue, and with her being so patient, he could only expect it to be especially good. Why else would she savor the moment, if not to make the story all the more glorious?

The boy made a motion to urge her on, and she complied happily, her arms moving erratically as she told the tale of how she had been cornered in the hallway by a _**very **_irate Valentine and her mother _(they appeared to have had another spat again, and Alec didn't doubt that his mother had started it by having tried to console the man)_ was tight lipped and agitated. He had apparently looked for his son where he could think of, and did not find the boy anywhere, leaving it with Isabelle to deliver the news that he was in fact being summoned, some affair or another, which Alec knew immediately to be the commencement ceremony the three boys would participate in that very day. Each boy was meant to be marked alone, a quiet affair between family and the Silent Brother whom would give them their first mark.

Obviously Jonathan was meant to go first, the master of the house's son. That he should be missing on this morning did not bode well for him.

She went on to explain, with great detail, the adventure she had, looking in all of the darkened corners of the house until coming into Jace's room two doors down, only to find the two wrapped up with one another. By the end of her story, Alec felt physically ill, shaken to the core. Jace and Jonathan… his crush and his best friend, his would- be, could- be parabatai had… _**slept together?**_ How was that even possible?

The hand that wrapped itself around his abdomen tightened, and to stop the outward onslaught, he covered his mouth with a stiff gauntlet, trying his best to stomach the bile that churned deep within him_**. This wasn't happening, it couldn't be….**_

But it was, and reality left Alec broken inside.

Isabelle shook her head, trying to clear her mind of the imaged running through her head. She couldn't stop it though; she kept seeing the two boys in bed with each other. The idea of it had her shaking with excitement- it was such a scandal that she-

A sharp noise broke through everything she was, shattering the images that played in her mind like glass, and Isabelle looked quickly with wide eyes to her brother, whose fist had gone straight through the floor length, free standing mirror. He trembled mercilessly, and from across the room she could see blood, bright as roses, dripping languidly from the glass that embedded in his knuckles and palm, dropping like a leaky faucet to splash on the ivory plush carpet. With a cry, she rushed her elder brother, hugging his shaking hand towards her, as she looked at his painful expression. Deft fingers unhooked the taught fist, surveying the damages as a scowl settled over her normally lax features.

This wasn't about her this time. It was about Alec. His hand tightened in hers as she looked dartingly from her fingertips plucking larger glass chunks out to the face that twisted her insides, his face skewed up in a manner that showed deeper pain than what he had done to himself when he punched the mirror. She regretted blabbing to her brother now about what she had seen, even if she didn't understand exactly why. She would question him later, when the wounds were less gaping, when he would be more willing to expose himself to her. Silently, the dark eyed girl focused on healing, a trait she was fairly bad at, and not for the first time in her life, she wished she could keep her mouth shut.

It had been her fault, after all, that her father had left. She ought to know better by now when to keep her mouth shut.

"I love him, Iz. I know I shouldn't, I know it could get me killed, but I can't help it." Alec's voice shocked her more than the arms that drew her to him. It was so raw that it left him hoarse, broken sounding in his weakness. She swore she could hear unfallen tears in his tenor, and it twisted like a knife in her gut when his arms tightened around her shoulders, melding her against him as he began to shake harder, unhinged.

When he had settled against his sister, Alec couldn't help but break down in the warmth, the comfort of her embrace, and the hard tremor that rocked him was consistent of that of an earthquake. Everything fell around him and shattered, leaving a broken wasteland with only Isabelle to cling to. He loved Jace with everything he had in him; he knew that with all of his being. A year with the boy and you couldn't help but fall for him. He was so beautifully broken that he had no idea that pieces were meant to be put together, and anyone willing to force their assistance… well, Alec was certain they would all find themselves where he was now.

Isabelle froze, the words hitting her fully, as her hand tightened in the dark, jagged locks of her elder brother. She refused to ask which of the two boys he had meant, because it didn't matter. Either one would get him killed the moment Valentine heard word of this. She tried to convince herself that it was noncommittal fancy, that this would soon fade and her brother would be in the clear, but she knew too well that Alec was too intelligent for his own good. If he were admitting this aloud now, she knew there was no shadow of doubt in his mind that this was reality. He would have already made certain there was no way out before backing himself into a corner like this. Isabelle would have to keep her brother's secret then, support him in the years to come. After all, what else could they do if the two sons of their monarch had bound themselves together? No matter how she looked at it, her brother would only be agonizing over this until he found the strength to get over it; he couldn't stand in Jonathan's way if Jace was what he wanted, and unless he was willing to risk the threat that their father imposed, Alec couldn't even tattle and hope that the act would dissolve this fiasco.

Pulling back, she looked up to her brother's bright blue eyes, nudging her forefinger across his bottom lid, pressing the stream of tears away, "We best get downstairs, Alec. One of you three has to become a Shadow hunter today."

Her smile was false, but the attempt made him smile glumly at her all the same. Together they retreated from the room, leaving the broken mirror where it laid, sure that Valentine would hear about this later, but by then, they would be ready.

XOX

The turnout was what anyone could expect it to be. Jace looked about the room and estimated maybe thirty could have been invited, but it looked like less were admitted into the room. When he entered, no one even turned to glare at him as he had thought; all eyes were well fixed on the pale boy and the Silent Brother before him as they looked to take in each other's worth. He found Clary easily enough, she always out- showed everyone, and today was no different. Though she had been awake most of the night, she had managed to make herself presentable, and had even dragged her newly- turned charge along with her. He stood, groggily, in what appeared to be something of Jonathan's or Alec's old clothes, a long- sleeved cotton top that hung loosely against his thin frame. He appeared hung over, limply standing behind the girl and if he wasn't mistaken, smelled like muck when he came to stand beside Clary, who did in fact acknowledge his lateness, as she nudged him with her hip and a well- placed glare over her shoulder, her arms coming to lay across her chest…

Well at least most people had missed his late entrance.

Jonathan stood proudly, his hand extended as the Silent Brother wrapped his cold and stiff bony fingers around his small wrist. The stele came down upon the back of his hand, and he felt discomfort in the silent torture, fire eating hungrily at him from the inside, and his arm jerked violently back. Luckily, the Brother was prepared, and his mark stayed true and firm, the stele still buried in his flesh. He wanted nothing more than to cry out. He noticed his angel boy enter the room, coming to stand beside Clary in her knee length, button-down blue dress, the petticoat beneath giving her a sharp doll-like appearance what with her tight ringlet curls and bell- shape. Together, they looked like toys, a toy- soldier and a porcelain doll, and the sweet reality that they were his toys, made a wicked smile spread across his face as he bore down on the pain.

His hand tightened into a bone-cracking hold as the stele burned away the smooth flesh of his left hand, the blood in his veins aflame. His young mind could imagine no worse pain than this ought- to- be- effortless rite of passage and when the man finally released him, he yanked back from the man, cradling the cracking, tender red flesh against his chest, rubbing at his forearm where the pain ebbed away as he retreated towards his siblings.

His father stopped his advanced, however, and drew the boy into conversation with other adults that must have been fairly important, leaving him to stare longingly at the pair of heavenlier children surrounded by a mob of just- sub par people. They shone most brightly surrounded by this filth, and he watched with a baited breath as she waved Jace with her towards him instead.

Jonathan's pain bothered Jace in a way he didn't really understand, and as he looked around the room to the other spectators, he caught the gaze of Alec across the hall with his sister, silently watching him. He looked upset as well, his expression one of deep, hidden pain boiling to the surface, and as their eyes met, he turned away so sharply, that Isabelle looked to him, as if he could express in some mute way what had happened. Her dark eyes expressed her distaste, and she took Alec's hand, calming him and taking a front.

So _**it was**_ something he had done then. Her thumb rubbed soothingly over the dark splash on her brother's hand, the mark he had already received, and Jace wondered if that might be the cause. He had missed his friend's marking ceremony. Regretfully, too, he might add. Jace had always intended to be last, but his presence was supposed to be there for both of his friends' ceremonies.

Jace felt wretched, and would have approached if not for the dark look the woman gave him, her eyes brightly resistant to his charms.

Turning, she removed her attention from one of the two boys that had hurt her older brother, and tried to distract herself with the people that had floated from Jonathan to Alec, congratulating him as well.

Jace stood idle off on his own, uncertain of what would happen and what he should do. He still had three months until he turned ten, so he could push off his first marks for a while if he wanted to renege on his agreement with Valentine- and did he really want to train with Alec and Jonathan anyway? With the polarity of the couple's emotions, he wasn't sure he would be able to survive the two. As he came to the decision to rejoin his family, and push off this nonsense for at least the moment so he could think things out more clearly, a cold wave settled across his shoulders to wrap itself around his heart.

He looked about himself and only then became aware that Clary had gone from his side, taking her pet with her to enter the circle forming around Jonathan and his father, effectively abandoning him. They surged, swallowing her up and he could hear her softly giggle as they mobbed her.

_**Jace Herondale…**_ Golden eyes shot to the source, a man in a bone white gown, his hand outstretched towards him_**, **_beckoning; _**it is not in such a great man to shy from a small challenge. Why put off what you are already so ready for?**_

Mutely, Jace approached the man proudly, his head held high and proud. His mouth fell open, ready to speak when the cool, prodding feeling filled him, and he knew the man was somehow inside of him, and that speaking was a moot point.

He thought of the angry, dueling set of boys, and the way their temperaments were clashing on the battle ground that he seemed to always be standing on. He reasoned that in only seven months after his tenth birthday, Clary too would be ten, and there would be another ceremony to commence her into their world. His reasons were not solid enough, and he felt like a petulant child as he held out each excuse, for that's all they were, only to find them too hollow to present to the holy man.

_**You would wait for her before progressing?**_ The man looked to Clary, and Jace looked to her as well, all brilliant smiles and the center of attention, despite it being her brother's day. She was always the center of his world, always his glowing star. _**I thought you the hero, Jace Herondale, but I might have been mistaken. You may not want to save the world, just the girl, but you would do best, I feel, to grow among those two then their sisters. After all, you cannot be the savior of those that are stronger than you. It is simply not the way of the world. The strong protect the weak.**_

His hand shook as the Silent Brother probed mutely at his mind, searching, as the cool, significantly larger palm rose to sit comfortably at Jace's heart level, asking him to submit. He understood without really wrapping his head around it that the monk had filled his head with enough self-doubt that he would let the currant take him where it would lead him, and he set his left hand in the older man's grasp, letting the cool fingers wrap languidly around his offered flesh. Looking from the hands clasped before them to the cloaked face, Jace caught sight of pale lips beneath the bone colored hood that normally hid all of the features, the mouth full and unhindered by the traditional threads that sewed them shut.

_**Do not fear what is to come, Jace Herondale...**_Though the man did not speak, the feeling of his voice ripped through him. It was unnerving, but somehow Jace got the feeling that they all were, and he was glad that the monk tried to ease his conscious. _**You are the strongest of those that stand before you, and even those that might come after you.**_

With no other prelude to the ceremony, he brought the stele in his other hand down on the back of Jace's left hand, moving in a smooth gesture that left Jace with no choice or way out, and before he knew it, the mark had been made and done with, a stark eye cut into his hand that appeared like it was just drawn on with a sharpie. The act took his breath away, the feeling of the stele bittersweet as it swept languidly across his flesh so that when it finally pulled away he regretted the loss; had he any choice, he would have lived in that feeling, greatly enjoying the feeling of the flesh cauterizing into a scar he would bare all his life. He looked at the mark in awe, touching gently and then with greater pressure as he realized it felt like nothing was there.

His golden eyes darted to the Silent Brother, whose face had pulled upward slightly, a barely recognizable smile as he nodded to Jace and took his leave. Jace wondered, looking around the room, how many had stood witness to his mark, and how many had no attention for him after Jonathan had been marked.

_**XOX**_

"I'll have my glasses back now." A soft, demanding voice sounded behind her, and Isabelle turned to see the defiant boy behind her, weakly standing with a tired hunch to his shoulders as he sagged visibly. She wondered idly if all of the mundanes that woke up stumbled about like this, or if it had been disobedient Clary specifically that had dragged him out and forced him dressed so soon after his change.

He looked hung over and despite how much care her partner had taken to straighten him out, she could _smell _the rotting scent of wretch and the hungry wish for death still lurked in his soft brown eyes.

"Why?" She turned curious eyes to him, her face scrunching slightly as she tried to dissect his intentions, "I'm certain you have no need for them now."

Simon snorted and his fingers twitched, open palm reaching further out as he demanded their return, "Yes well I'd like to have them back all the same."

Isabelle's eyebrow lifted in an elegant arch at his antics. She had to give it to him, he had some nads, or he was significantly stupider than she had originally taken him for. He was cute, in a bookish way, and though she doubted he had the vast knowledge of a Shadow hunter his age, she thought he would strive to quickly surpass them in the years to come. Shrugging, she played innocent, turning from the boy, as she looked to her manicure, coyly throwing over her shoulder, "Sorry to disappoint, but I don't have them."

She swayed away from him then, her dress fluttering like a flag behind her. Simon scowled at the girl that snubbed him, only momentarily before he let his gaze drift to the way she moved languidly, like an ocean's current.

For her own effort, Isabelle could only feel elated as she realized she had made a remarkable impact. She doubted she made a friend this way, but oh how he would remember her. With a small smirk, she sauntered back towards the door, not wanting to give congratulations to either boy that caused her dear brother so much heart ache.

_**XOX**_

With an exasperated sigh, Clary unfurled a hand fan; waving it gently with the flick of her wrist to stave off the overheated discussion, her other hand raked her lovely locks back towards her shoulder exasperatedly. The gesture was lost on these people, and they just fawned like a bunch dogs, and someone brushed her ego, saying how lovely a girl Valentine had and the conversation went south from there. Her voice trilled, and she realized these people were going to think she was laughing at the atrocious joke. Why, oh merciful god, why?

Why was it that she always got dragged into these things? Why couldn't she just simply be Clary, and not daughter of the master of the house? She was getting tired of these people, always overshadowing her and her brother wherever they went.

Somehow she had lost Simon when the rush of people had absorbed her into the mob around her brother. Turning her attention from the group, she tried her best to coyly look around the affectionate crowd, trying to see through the gaps they provided every so often to peer around the room.

She didn't see head or tail of the boy, and she was about to rejoin the group mentally when a presence made itself known, a hard chest pressing against her back as a hand caught her bicep. Her small frame trembled with wrath as the boy pressed his lips against the back of her ear, the force of his embrace immediately alerting her to who touched her.

"Miss him that much, little sister?" Jonathan whispered, coming up behind her, his hand running down the length of one ruby wave, twisting the end around his finger near her shoulder. She jumped, whirling around on him, and she backhanded his shoulder, turning on him viciously. He only smirked, knowing she hardly meant it this time. He couldn't count the number of times she had bloodied him and gotten away with it because she was his precious, delicate angel. Glancing to the flesh that reddened beneath the thick leather gears, Jonathan laughed, "Don't worry, Clary- dear. I'm sure the boy will survive that bawdy nature you're hiding in your petticoats."

Clary's jaw dropped, and she longed to slug him, to feel his blood on her hands as she pummeled his face in again, "I'll have you know, I'm not a whore! At least all of my relationships don't boarder on the depraved and nefarious!"

Stepping back up to her, Jonathan towered over her by a head. She glared at him, trying to level the playing field until he touched her chin gently, tilting her mouth to his in a simmering kiss.

When he finally parted from her, her eyes had drifted shut, and as her body went lax against his she clutched to the collar on his jacket, unsure if she would have drifted away if not for the solidity he offered.

"By the Angel, Clary… you are the most un-depraved of them all. If anything, you allow me to debase you by my very presence."

A small smile spread over her lips, and her hand idly played with the softness that fluttered in her warm mouth as he whispered such loving things to her, eagerly pressing another kiss to her cheek as he mouthed mutely things to her without anyone's notice.

She quickly forgot about Simon, content to let him accurately boost her ego in a way that these mutts that scrambled over themselves could never achieve, leaning into his enchanting arms.

_**XOX**_

Jace awkwardly stood by himself, distancing himself from the Morgenstern siblings who had come back together; Clary eagerly spoke, her arms making huge, angry gestures.

Jonathan seemed content to let her threaten him. After several shrill moments, he laughed and drew her up into a soft kiss that silenced her, unobserved by anyone but Jace it seemed, and as he released her, his face pressed itself against her ear and the girl smiled brightly, her fingers touching her lips idly. Her hands went to the tender mark on her brother's right wrist, the darkness brighter as it burned red around the edges, already healing around the outermost swirls. She looked proud of her brother, and he wondered if that feeling would be turned to him in the moments that followed when she knew that he too had been branded with his first mark or if that was saved especially for her kin.

Silently, Jace moved to come towards the siblings, until a hand halted his approach. Alec stood in his way, his hands grasping the shorter boy by his biceps, with a haunted look in his pale eyes. He looked hurt still, but urgent desperation pulled his face taught, and he leaned into Jace, hugging him tightly to his chest, face in his hair, "Be careful now Jace. I know what I'm talking about."

His face was so close to his ear, turned just so that Jace could feel wave after wave of warm air flutter over his lobe as the warning reached him, "Beware evil that wears the face of an angel."

The other boy released him then, too quick for Jace to make sense of what happened, and after a few moments, he understood why. Jonathan had wrenched the other boy off of him unceremoniously, and the two glared at each other viciously. "We need to discuss your loyalty, Alec."

"I'm _allowed to congratulate_ Jace as well," Alec's voice was sharp now, as he yanked his arm out of the other boy's hold. "It a free country, y'know. I can do what I want."

"Oh, too well." Jonathan's voice came out bitterly, "But how is it your sister understands her role in life so well and you struggle with accepting it? Your loyalty belongs to me, Alexander Lightwood. Any friendship that you obtain comes after our bond- it is what our parents demand."

Clary came forward and moved between them then, getting up in her brother's face as she yanked her brother's hands off of Alec's coat sleeve. Apparently all the loving cues were gone from her, and now she stood defiantly between them, a very tangible force that could leave him in serious pain if he wasn't careful. The message she posed to the others was clear in the way she raised up against the other boy, fury in her frame: run.

The two boys took the hint, and Alec grabbed at Jace, shoving him away as he rushed them from the room, having enough experience in knowing how the two siblings lived with each other to understand when blood was about to be drawn.

"He doesn't have to choose you, Jonathan!" Clary shrieked, drawing the room's attention like moths to the flame. Her father tried to draw their attention back, but it was too late, the dramatic scene had been set out before them and it was a feast for them to make rumors of. Regardless, the girl could not bite back her tongue as she bit out, "Like it or not, he doesn't have to-"

"And neither do you_**,**__** apparently**_," His wrath turned to his younger sister, dark eyes pinning on Clary and she wilting her like a flower beneath the intensity, instantly shutting her mouth, her jaw clicking closed. He seized her, and dragged her towards him, her forearm bound by the hand he had just received first marks on. Despite the pain, he grasped her with enough force that she couldn't wrench free, no matter how she yanked and thrashed about. "You have _**no **_room to talk. At least he chooses another hunter over me. You're my sister, Clary, and a mundane you just met meant more to you than a promise you made to me."

She looked in shock for several moments, her wide green eyes shimmering, and she pulled back with enough force that he just let her go, stumbling awkwardly until she stood her ground, watching him in self-realized horror. After the feeling settled deep enough, she wrapped her arms around her midriff. The normally soft eyes hardened, pinpointing a spot on the floor to push all of her aggression, and her voice came out as a harsh whisper, "He would have died if I didn't help him, Jonathan. You know that."

"Good riddance." Came his harsh reply, as he pushed past her roughly, ignoring the way his sister barely held on to her irritation, a violent heat starting at her fingertips as he walked away. "After all, that's just what you need, Clarissa. Another distraction from what we really are."

Turning Clary screamed as the door settled shut behind him and where her hands clasped so tightly, Simon saw small shocks of smoke rising. She should have pummeled the bastard when she had the chance. Now he thought he'd gotten away with it, and she would be made to go to bed angry with him later. After all, Jonathan always got his way in the end, and Clary always kept her promises. Approaching her silently, the once human boy touched her shoulder, and she jumped, unclenching her hands and looked to him in surprise. His soft smile eased her agitation and for a moment, Simon saw the flecks of gold in her lovely eyes before they shifted back to light green, and they squinted slightly as her expression turned to one of false happiness.

"Come on, Simon." She tugged at his arm gently, "We need to find you a home. You can't just stay in my brother's bedroom."

His thoughts raced as he followed mutely out of the room, her warm hand holding his at her side as her hips waved sharply side to side, a definitive snap that sent her skirt in short spurts of unfurling waves.

"No, I suppose I can't," he said softly, as his hand tightened in hers, following obediently, "especially since he's exposed himself as an insufferable douche-bag."

Clary paused, her body going rigid as she turned wide, surprised eyes to him with her hand frozen over the door handle. Simon thought he might have had said the wrong thing as everyone in the room stared at him. He so easily forgot that he was the outsider here, and that he had probably just entered the biggest faux pas of his life. His worry eased, as the girl choked on a laugh, the smile reaching her eyes at last, her hand tightening on his as she pulled him out of the room, a rush that was far lighter taking over.

Her voice brightly floated to him, and only after they had reached her room did he recognize what she had cried so excitedly_**, "A wondrous pet you'll make for me"**_

_**XOX**_

_**(Four or Five months later)**_

Feverishly, his clothes fell piece by piece as eager hands pulled at him again. Jace wondered, hazily, if Jonathan treated anyone else with this amount of unhinged passion. He knew that the relationship between Jonathan and his sister had strained drastically since their marking ceremony, and just short of weekly he had been dragged off to soothe the boy, these fast paced make-out sessions growing in intensity as the months passed. He seemed to be a surrogate for the boy's affection. It wasn't unheard of for Jace to wake up wrapped up in the long, pale arms of the other boy, in just their boxers and a sheet between them.

With a sigh, his hand rolled down the paler boy's back, grasping the uneven flesh that curiously told more of a story about the boy's youth than he did, and a twinge of guilt passed through him as Jonathan wrenched his hand down away from the mass of scar tissue to rest at his hip. The command didn't surprise him, as the fingers idled against his, "Stop thinking about it."

The pain was tightening in his chest again. He could see the tension in the other boy's shoulders daily now; it seemed to never leave him be, and it made him easy to anger, and more demanding.

Jace wasn't about to lie, he had been, the tough flesh often ran through his mind when the elder boy removed his shirt, even when Jace's hand passed over it fully clothed. How could the father they shared take such aggression out on one child and not the other? True, Jace had seen the darkness lurking beneath the surface, felt its vicious bite the day of his ninth birthday, and would have probably held substantially more damage had he run his mouth the way that he had seen Jonathan do with his father. It came down to a bitter relationship between father and son, he was sure.

Jonathan bit down hard on his pectoral, drawing blood and a sharp yelp out of the boy that's hands idled back over his spine, "I _**told **_you to stop."

_**XOX**_

There was nothing Jonathan could do about it. He had to wait patiently while his father took his damn sweet time. It always seemed to go this way, and some days he wondered if he ought not go and hunt down the beast his father had so effectively hidden from him and just take of its blood himself.

The gnawing, crushing need was overtaking him more and more these days, and he couldn't help but snap at those closest to him, those that's fealty had been sworn to him. Alec, his closest friend, had distanced himself, and tried to drag Jace away as well, only sharing the training lessons with him, and even then he tried to get Jace to pair up with him instead, leaving Jonathan to spar with the instructor.

It didn't matter though. His claws were so deep in Jace that the boy wasn't going to run away, not unless he released all of his aggression on him, something he was trying his damndest to control.

He wasn't Clary. Though he was caste from the same bone and flesh, she forgave wholeheartedly without having an excuse from him. She knew him that well that she didn't need one. He doubted that his angel boy would treat him as well. He was after all, not really his family, and all he held over him was this pleasant exchange that brought him enough peace of mind that he felt like he could control his furiously boiling blood.

The golden haired boy ran his hands down the mass of whip marks that his father had gifted to him and he flinched, wrenching the fingers that tried to soothe the injured flesh from their task, to rest at the waistband of his silk pajama bottoms, before darkly growling at the look in the other man's eye, a contemplative stare that spoke more than he could ever express verbally, "Stop thinking about it."

Jace pitied him. Somehow, instinct must have kicked in somewhere and made him realize he wasn't the favored child. First born and a son, true, but that was where Valentine's consideration ended. If he could, both boys had no doubt that he would have murdered his son. Instead, he settled on torture, reminding him daily of his worthlessness in the shadow of the children he had gifted angelic blood with. They never had to struggle with insanity, the rawness that came with it as clarity slipped beneath the restless waves and you hurt everyone you came to care about. It was hardly a wonder that he stole from the children his father so favored. He was taking their love in place of his parents'. The hands at his waist tightened, and Jonathan saw the boy distance himself again.

He was contemplating the worth he held to his father. With a dark look, he pinned the boy down with as much malice that stirred within him. The urge came upon him to drain the boy of his blood, to revel in the way it would languidly drip across his flesh.

The thought of Jace lying broken on the floor forever snuffed out from this world, however, had his stomach tightening painfully. He couldn't stand the look on his face, either though. He couldn't break this sweet boy, couldn't destroy his purity that drew him irrevocably towards him, but he couldn't stand that pity either. Leaning forward, his lips pressed a gentle kiss to the flesh above his heart, and sank his teeth into the firm muscle, feeling blood rush against his teeth. It was enough of a warning that the boy's golden eyes cleared and his hands fell away, tightening at his lumbar and it eased him to know that he was punished enough that he regretted pitying Jonathan, "I _**told **_you to stop."

_**XOX**_

A noise at the door had them both upstarted, and Jonathan unceremoniously shoved Jace off of the bed, so as not to make the same mistake that had occurred with the Lightwood girl. He really needed to start locking that damn door. Too many people just walked in a willy- nilly.

It opened softly, exposing his sister in her silk robe, her hair cascading over her shoulder like a crimson waterfall, blending softly into the black and gold silk chemise beneath that cupped her breasts just so that he could see the soft chasm between them as she ducked her head into the dark room, her hand clutching the loose robe over her front in modesty, "Jonathan?"

She looked around the darkness, and settled on the bed where she saw the unmade bed and what looked like a boy sitting near the large headboard, "You there? I was worried; I know father hasn't gotten you any more injections yet. Are you still all right? Do you need me tonight?"

The girl had grown accustomed over the years with her brother using her to sate the hunger, the darkness that lurked behind his haunted eyes, knew well the exhaustion that settled in his very bones and caused him unending agony. She was the only thing that could ease him in these sometimes long-drawn out moments that their father sought to obtain the medication her brother needed. She also knew how deeply he would cut her with words he didn't mean as he struggled to maintain himself. He must be there again, she knew. He walked around half in a daze, with the telltale signs of self-inflicted claw marks and bruising and he had been especially hurtful, though she undoubtedly knew that she would always forgive this nature in him.

He was after all, her brother, though a monster her father created lurked beneath the surface. She knew what her father had done to him, her mother had let it slip so many years ago, and she had dedicated herself that day to save him, no matter the costs.

The door shut behind her when she received no response, and she settled against the thick wood, her breath baited. He found his voice, watching in awe as she let the robe fall from her chest to expose the full column of her neck and shoulders, unmarked and pure as she ought to be, an ethereal vision in the light of the dim fire, "Come to the bed, we're waiting."

A sharp grasp alerted him to Jace's reluctance to announce his presence, and as he scrambled up, Clary blindly called out, "Who else is in here with you, Jonathan? Alec? You could've at least told me before I started taking my clothes off!"

Why wouldn't she think of Alec? After all, the boy was close friends with Jonathan, surely they had had sleepovers before when they were younger. Still, her sharp outcry twisted in his gut.

He stopped in his escape, turning quickly enough to see the haunting vision of the young seductress in all her glory, a thin night dress that hugged her every curve with two slits up the sides ending at her rounded hips. A rustle announced her indignant shift, pulling her robe back to cover herself, but it was too late, Jace had seen everything, and he was hooked. He breathed unevenly, the hitch to his intake making him stutter in her wondrous presence. "I-i-ittsmee."

Clary paused then, in the middle of tying the thin fabric shut tight again, "Was that _**Jace?**_"

Wickedly, Jonathan sprawled backwards, tucking his arms behind his head, and languidly enjoying the show about to abruptly start before his eyes, his two favorite playthings and he… "How about you just come here and find out, Clarissa."

Mutely, she nodded before timidly shuffling towards the king- sized bed, climbing up with a grace that laid claim to the fact she had done this now for years.

Jace watched with curiously wide golden eyes, feeling voyeuristic as the girl pulled up to her brother, loosening the robe to fall languidly off her thin shoulders as she laid down beside him. Her head pillowed itself against his shoulder as she watched him with half-hooded green eyes, her hair wildly fanning about her face.

Jonathan watched the two, obviously attracted to one another as they batted at each other. He shut his eyes, blocking out the way the two stared blatantly at one another. He could hear the change in his sister's breathing, a soft pitch as the boy approached on deft feet, to kneel on the bed on the other side of his hip.

"Kiss her."

This couldn't be happening. Jace looked from Jonathan to Clary, both the image of nobility, their youthful flesh glowing in the pale flashes of light strewn from the fireplace, both looking like they really could care less.

Clary sat up, drawing her long hair over her shoulder as she tucked her knees to the side of her, looking up innocently at him with a soft smile. She didn't seemed disturbed that her brother had commanded that he make a move on his little sister, something Jace had assumed most older brothers would be offended by.

He had dreamed now for years of kissing the young woman, of telling her how his heart felt as if they were completing each other's when they simply met gazes. He had avoided her for what felt like lifetimes in order to subdue her father's wrath, and yet here she was, being offered up to him by Valentine's son no less, the boy that took from him restful sleep in an empty bed, and gifted him peaceful ones wrapped up with languid kisses that evoked feelings he didn't quite have names for.

Tilting his head regally, Jonathan leaned into an open palm, observing the other boy at war with himself, and took his inactivity as a blatant decline to his order. His dark eyes dissected, taking away more than clothes as his capricious thoughts had his playmates reeling, "You wish to please me, don't you Jace? To make me consider you highly? Then do as I tell you now- Kiss her."

Clary was first to move, coming timidly up to sit on his knees, her full lips parted as she drew his against them. She approached timidly, embarrassed by her dress as it rode up to expose all of her milky thighs, but she came nonetheless, straddling his thighs as she raised her hand to touch his sharp jawline. The kiss was awkward at first; there was no other way to describe it. Jace sat up on his knees, before settling on the balls of his feet, the shift making her thighs tighten over his as she slid, locking herself in place.

Clary would be lying if she were to say that she didn't see the attractiveness in the boy. He was fairly good looking, the kind of appearance that would only grow hotter as he aged into the lean muscles that were starting to chisel themselves out. Even now, she could see the small divots in his abdomen that would one day become ripped washboard abs, and his arms were bands of corded muscle that supported her as she settled against his legs, straddling his thighs widely. Raising her hands, she let them loose in his golden curls, the color lovely in the firelight as she brought her lips to his softly.

The first kiss was brief, and neither felt comfortable enough to venture too deep. This innocent play at affection was not what Jonathan had in mind, however and in the brief moments that they had taken breath, he came up behind his sister to trap her between their two bodies, his legs clenching down on Jace's mid-thigh to keep him where he liked. The girl sharply breathed in as a hand pressed against the underside of her sensitive breast, lifting the slight bit of flesh fondly. Letting out the breath she held, she leaned against it, resting her head against her brother's shoulder as she only partially accepted that it was Jace's hand on her, fondling her soft flesh, entrapped by her brother's hand that guided him. It didn't surprise her when she felt the new boy's abdomen tighten, and she was crushed between the two aroused boys as both let their hands wander her soft curves.

A faint cry, however, made her jump, and it was only then that she realized that though the boys had taken turns toying with her like a plaything, she was stuck _**between**_ them, an anchor that kept the two bound somehow. A wet, smacking noise drew her attention to the right where the boys' mouths had crashed against one another, Jonathan's hand tight in the other boy's hair offering him no escape. His other hand drew hers from her lap, pushing it to his hip bone

"Kiss him," came the breathy whisper, hot on her neck as his hand tightened over her hip, rubbing rough circles that eased her somehow, a low and warm tightening seizing her in the pit of her stomach that had never been there before. She turned, willing to comply when he was treating her so gently, only to find Jace's lips occupied by the one that had ordered her to obey.

"But I can't kiss him," she whispered as the hand grew rougher, grinding her between the two arousals. Jace gave a pleasant mewl, and his hand tightened against her other hip, helping to guide her as she hovered between the two, and both hands tightened, the other still on the breast she allowed him to cup warmly. "Not with _**your **_lips on him!"

_**Come now…**_ she swore she could hear the sarcasm in the tone, in his voice _**You were supposed to be the creative one. Now, really Clary…**_

Easing forward, she pressed her lips to his throat, and felt the tightening of his jaw, rewarded by the sharp intake of his breath and the feral growl of warning that Jonathan gave him as the other boy drew away, grinding upwards. When she leaned to kiss higher up his neck, the two boys lifted her, pressing closer together until they were one writhing unit, all caressing fingertips and heatedly placed kisses. Jace had stopped resisting now that Clary acted on her own freewill, gentle touches making him yearn to embrace her, but every time his hand reached for her, he was warned physically by an unspoken rule, until the other boy had pressed him backward and he collapsed against the pillows, the Morgenstern siblings pressing their way deeper into him.

He was welcome to visit this pleasure. Jace read that easily enough in the way Jonathan had guided him at first, now leaving him to his own devices, so long as his attentions were divided between them both.

But anytime he tried to single out Clary, to shower her with the affection such a goddess should deserve, he was punished raptly; a pinched nipple, a bit lip. It wasn't until Jonathan had yanked his hair in order to drag his mouth away from Clary's soft one that he understood.

They both belonged to Jonathan. So long as both came crawling back to him, provided him with enough affection to drown in, they would be allowed free range of their hearts desires.

_**XOX**_

Being pressed between the two boys was like being pinned between a hurricane and a tsunami. It didn't matter where she turned, there was someone there. Every time Jace's lips were able to escape from her brother's, they pressed urgently to hers, giving stolen kisses with the urgency of being hunted, and every time her heart tightened as he was dragged away from her, until she clung to his strong shoulders, letting the whirlwind that was her brothers just take her where it would.

She was vaguely aware that the nearness between their bodies had tightened and she now practically rode both erections, every shift making the pair sigh with relief until they were dragging her down.

Jace was getting desperate, clinging tightly to her, and her brother did not appreciate it.

Pulling back, her brother twisted, pulling her against his taught, heaving chest, and took her to the side of the golden boy, pinning her to the mattress, pressing fevered kisses everywhere she would let him.

Stuck in the lovely feeling of their affection, Clary let her head fall back, a soft sigh rewarding him each time he petted her a way she enjoyed, a much lighter play than when he had pinned her between them. The languid kisses made her mind fuzz, until nothing remained but the warm feeling that filled her, his arms wrapped around her.

Jonathan turned then to Jace, a contented smile on his face for once that the Herondale boy could remember as he rolled back to spoon him, Clary following half in her daze to throw a long arm around her brother's trim waist line. The hand hung loosely, and Jace took it between his, letting his eyes fall silently, drifting easily off to sleep as the sound of their heartbeats filled his ears, a gently lulling melody that calmed him to the dark, endless abyss.

_**XOX**_

When Jonathan finally awoke, it was well into the day again, far off from their usually scheduled awakening before dawn. The sun had risen to announce day, and they all slumbered on. Sometime in the night, he had spun onto his back, and his siblings' hands still held true, fingers interlocked across his stomach as they slept on his chest. Deep within him, he felt peaceful, the pain that ruled over him from the day all but gone from his system.

He expected to feel exhaustion set in, like it often times did when he sought out his clarity and reveled in it, but was happily surprised by the way he felt nothing but warmth fill him. It brought a true smile to his face, and he unhinged the two from his shoulders.

Clary made a noise of discontent before settling against Jace, her hands tightening against the boy's chest in a way that made his heart clench. He knew what made them what they were now. It was impossible for it to be any other way. As his father had made him into a beast, he had done something of a similar nature to his sister. It was this that had given him such ease of mind.

The blood he had gifted to her, Jonathan had long suspected, was that of an angel. Possibly that of the angel he feasted upon himself. It was the reality that he faced now. Clary had given him peace before, but never in such a drastic amount. He saw no darkness ebb in the edges of his vision.

He felt human for once in his life, a normal boy. Looking to his reflection, he saw that a dark green had replaced the black, staring back at him expectantly. Was this how others felt?

He looked to Jace, and recalled the brightness to his eyes, a gold he often saw in his sister's eyes. It was so obvious to him now; the two that shared his bed were one and the same creature. Together, their powers combined to make one heavenly being, and together, they gifted him with insurmountable peace.

Turning, Jonathan left the room, willing to give them their space to wake up to one another and not his demanding nature, a payment they deserved so much after what they gave him. His destination was his father's office, the room he reported to daily to take in his duties every morning before beginning his warm ups for training, most of which being a begrudging order to be nicer to the house maids.

A smirk passed over his lips as the thought passed his mind. Fancy him being anything but a cocky little bastard to the fearful women that ran at his very shadow. He contemplated whether or not he fancied torturing them still with his newly cleared mind, and the realization passed him that he couldn't care less.

_**XOX**_

The boy entered of his own accord, knocking once on the mahogany slab before slipping inside to be addressed. Maryse perked up, sitting on the edge of her chair as she closed her book, looking to the clock across the room. It was nearly ten and the boy had only now emerged from his room.

"Take your medicine." Valentine blandly intoned, motioning his hand towards the long, unrolled leather pouch at the end of his desk which had slots of pre-measured needles for easy distribution. Often times when he was a young boy, the sight of the instruments laid out this way horrified him, the long metal and glass syringes stark and shimmering, almost black with the blood they housed as they sat on his father's desk as if on display. They taunted him too, telling him he wasn't a whole person and never would be, the failure something he would always have to live with. He could bare it, however, as he always had.

The elder man didn't look up, simply continuing on with his work, too busy to truly be bothered by his only true son. He was always that way too these days. Maryse was more attentive to his needs, and he wondered if she didn't think she was making leeway into becoming an actually set fixture in the family.

The silly woman had no idea that she would be tossed away with yesterday's trash the moment his actual mother returned to them. No one would ever replace Jocelyn in Valentine's heart, not ever. Although, Jonathan had to give her that she was the best mother _**he**_ had ever had.

When he made no move to take it, Valentine glanced towards the boy, making a note in the medical journal he worked on in the process. It had been almost a month since he had been able to supply his son with anything substantial to soothe him, and it wore on them both when the stores he kept were so empty. He lived like an addict, it was true, waiting for the next fix, but his son needed this, it sustained him. Valentine waited for his son to take of the abundance when it was to be had, when he himself had yet to indulge to make sure that Jonathan was indeed secured. His son shrugged, his thumbs in his pockets as he stood awkwardly before the desk, "I don't think I need it."

His voice was flat, unbothered. Looking at him closer, he could see a small smile played at his son's lips, his eyes fixed on the bag of syringes, and his long, thin fingers came to touch his mouth, the Morgenstern family ring settling on his right hand middle finger loosely as it curled, pressing the finger pad across the smooth, warm flesh surrounding his mouth.

The smile widened, then, and he nodded, firmly, "No, I don't need it."

Maryse responded from the shock first, standing abruptly from the armchair beside the desk, dropping the journal she read to the desk as she rushed him, enclosing him to her breast as her emotions overtook her, "That is excellent news, Jonathan!"

Valentine intoned his agreement, searching his son for a sign of falseness. But it seemed his son was at ease, truly. He even allowed his mistress to embrace him, and no one save Clary could even do that much. There was a physical change as well, a lightness that had changed his eyes from dark abysses to a deep emerald, rimmed with serpent green around the irises and he seemed content, his shoulders slumped in a carefree manner he did not normally attribute to his son.

Maryse whipped around to look at his father, her eyes bright and hopeful, as she released the boy from her abrupt hug, her hands clutching at his shoulders as she drew away, "Do you suppose this is the first Nephilim marks' doing?"

"We will have to test the Eve to be certain, but this is a considerably large. If we can selectively null those ill-conceived tendencies with the Voyance rune... We can press on earlier."

He went to the bookshelf, looking up around and past the vast array of books, until he found it, an archaic symbol he had bored into the top of the column that marked the shelf he needed. Pulling the ladder around along the rounded wall behind the desk, he went to the right of the broken symbol that appeared like a clawed hand holding something loosely and ascended, reaching blindly for the only gray book on the shelf, the only one which he never touched. It was dusty, and bare, save the first few pages, photos sent to him from a far off land.

As he climbed silently down the ladder, the book tucked safely beneath his arm as he descended once more, Maryse seemed to steel herself, as she saw that his eyes had pinned on his son who remained wide-eyed and she urged the boy from the room with a soft apology.

Jonathan resisted only momentarily as his father's words took form in his mind fully. He wasn't just a mistake.

There was two of him, just like the two slumbering in his bed? A breeding pair… The thought had his heart fluttering desperately in his chest. The moment the door closed behind him, he struggled against it again, desperate to hear more. He had lived his life to this point thinking he was an abomination, his father's worst mistake. Now, he knew that it wasn't a _**he**_, it was a _**they**_.

_**They **_were his biggest blunder. So much so that he had sent the girl he had created for his son away. Slamming his fist against the wood door, he felt the wood give slightly, splintering away. He snarled, shouting obscenities at the door that neither adult within addressed, dealing with the issues at hand.

The dark haired woman silently took the small tome, flipping open to the first page, taking in the name elegantly scrawled across the paper, a birth certificate with notes drawled across the edges, a picture of a dark haired girl with equally black eyes glaring back. Even as a baby, she looked threatening. She supposed that that might have been why this was the first time she had heard of a second child borne out of the barren demonic blood. Her voice cracked, as she looked up at him, her eyes narrowing, "Valentine... you made two of them? Isn't it difficult to keep one child in line?

He didn't answer the question at first, his mind on the girl that was always meant to be his son's mate, just as Jace had been made for Clary, albeit he had never intended his daughter to be the feminine counterpart to the boy. It had been a mistake on his end, as he had drugged his wife up hoping not to lose her to the overwhelming sadness that consumed her. By time he had realized she was pregnant, it was already too late. He had saved his wife, true, but he had forced her to bare him another monster.

He thought about how difficult it was for his son to know what he was, the only one of the children he had experimented upon and observed the growth of that seemed to exert any real damaging results. He had sent the female demon-made child away shortly after her birth, seeing the evil that lurked behind his son's eyes, and knew that she too would bare the same ill tendencies. He couldn't help his sentiment, however, and had felt it wrong to leave his son with no one in the world that would really, truly understand him.

Turning tired eyes on the woman that hoped to replace the only woman that he had ever cared for save his child, he rubbed his temple with his forefinger and thumb, as he murmured softly, looking to the center column that bore a lotus-like symbol, numerous books shelved on the right side of the one he drew the book she held from. He saw the woman's daughter, her unique eyes that would have glared at him mercilessly in defense of her family or Clary, the girl he had watched grow up beside his own and kept near for her blood as well.

"I made a mate for your daughter, didn't I Maryse? If I refused to leave her alone, why would I do the same to my own kin?" came his voice, a wispy breath that went through her like an arrow aimed for her heart. The woman pursed her lips, before nodding her understanding. She had allowed him to experiment on her daughter as well, hoping it would gain her equal footing. If Jocelyn had gained favor for allowing such a thing to occur to her children and had not shied away, why should she, when the blood he offered her might strengthen her bond with the man. Besides, hers was a lesser risk, it always was, and truth be told, Maryse had seen no real change or alteration from her first child in comparison.

"How long until you can bring her here, Maryse?" his voice broke through to her and her head jerked up from the portfolio journal to meet his dark, haunting gaze.

"Where is she?" her voice caught, a deep resonation trembling in her voice as

"Who knows what drives the girl. She _ought_ to be somewhere in Asia still however. That's where I last saw her."

"Her parents let her just do as she wants? She's still just a child!"

"Oh they don't _allow _much of anything..." Valentine let off, allowing her imagination to run wild. Did the girl really run rabid? Was she anything like Jonathan?

Turning, the woman left without another sound, shoving unceremoniously passed the boy that still stood pressed against the door, her shoulder sharply hitting his as she went by. The faster she got this done with, the faster she could come home to her children.

_**XOX**_

_**HUZAAAH! Another chappie. More plots unfurl.**_

_**So one this whole threesome thing: Jonathan is still the same monster he is in the book, but his father has been subduing him with mixture of sedatives and angel blood. What he takes from his siblings creates clarity for him, which is what he lusts after. With one, it makes him calm, two give him serenity. They also change his emotional state because of this, which is why he was so angry in the last chapter that she had reneged on their agreement, as he's gone without stabilizing through medical means, and so his only other choice was Clary, whom ignored his needs to see to someone she didn't even know for a day. To punish her, he planned on hurting someone he knew she cared for, until he realized that Jace gave him the same that his sister did. So angry at her, he uses Jace instead.**_

_**But of course if one was good, what would two do for him?**_

_**I hope that the Adam/Eve thing makes a bit more sense to you guys now. They are the first of their respective new races, demonic (the way left shelves which are dedicated to Jonathan and his mate), angelic (the way right shelves), which are dedicated to notes on Jace and Clary, and the ones in between (those that surround the lotus, which represent Isabelle and her mate). They are the ones that Valentine is trying to breed perfect warriors into. Because the Shadowhunter race is important to him, he has enough forethought to make sure that a combination of the species is in fact possible. That means that they must not be sterile like Vampires and Warlocks, but be able to continue their respective races.**_

_**I keep outlining where I want each chapter to end, and over- writing chapters. This one after I got close to where I finished off was going to be about 35 + or so pages, I realized, and had to cut off so I could get you the chapter within the week. Otherwise, I probably wouldn't have had posted until the 15**__**th**__**, after my birthday festivities. How is everyone enjoying the length? Would you like more chapters, or lengthier ones like the last two? I can punch out shorter chapters faster if you'd like, but I rather like the longer lengths.**_

_**Any who~ **_

_**Love it? Review, Follow, Fave, Share.**_

_**A special shout out to Lauren for her feedback. I'd like to give you oodles of promises where Jocelyn is concerned, but I'll settle for just saying that there will be more of her in this story, as well as more on Maryse and Valentine. I just feel like prioritizing their story now isn't necessary, but it is bound to happen eventually.**_

_**And if you guys could, I'd like a head count of people that like this. Please review, just so I know how many are enjoying this so far, even if it's just a smiley face**_

_**Love to all my readers out there, either way**_

_**Till Next Time**_

_**~*~TAORI~*~**_


	4. Grey for Knowledge Best Untold

_**Grey for Knowledge Best Untold**_

_**XOX**_

Simon ran after her, calling her name. He was a slight boy, wimpy almost in physique, and had given most of the adult Shadow hunters that ran with Valentine a good, hearty laugh as they watched the once mundane boy stumble behind their great leader's youngest child. She seemed content to keep him with her, too, and the subject became quite popular dinner-table talk.

What did such a good girl see in the boy? He wasn't much to look at, what with his thick head of brown tight curls and his brown eyes he was pretty plain; in addition to that he seemed to be of moderate intelligence, and his skill with blade was abysmal. He was nothing special, not like the Morgenstern son or daughter nor the adopted Herondale boy. Valentine seemed content enough to ignore the child, but provided him the essentials, making a role model of his family for others to take on as the waves of human children were displaced from their world and the survivors were left homeless, unable to return home they might as well be called orphans. The first households to take in the newly-made Shadow-hunters were those in the Circle, and others followed suit. Out of the hundreds of thousands in Idris, about a thousand now were mundane-born, and though it was common practice to just throw them into a single house with a nanny to watch over the masses before, Clary had forced her hand, and also the possibility to allow Mundies to be brought into pure Shadow-hunter homes.

She treated him like a normal boy, someone she could rely on unlike any other. She changed tradition, and with that change she brought a hope that one day, the children forced to endure the change could stand beside the children born as Nephilim. That time was now, however, where Clary was concerned. She made it her point to accept them the way they were, to defend the weak and hopeless.

It was something that Simon loved about her. Not everyone had the same views as his beloved Clary.

Off on one of the steep ridges, Isabelle observed the way the boy stumbled along awkwardly after her would-be partner, keeping low to the ground so she wouldn't be seen. The Lightwoods were of the few families he had encountered that had created a strong front against the muddling of families. Alec looked down on him disdainfully, constantly making ignorant remarks that Jace was beginning to reflect as well, and Isabelle liked to snub him when she didn't outright ignore him. Today she watched him distrustfully, crouched like a pantheress in her tight gears, low on the hill as she stalked the opposing team, all the while following Simon carefully. She didn't trust him, but that was fine. Simon didn't trust her all that much either.

Clary had forced them all come to outside for a fight session in the hills near the ancient city's walls, wanting desperately to breathe in the spring air after being trapped up in the house for so long. Her grandmother had relented and stood in as a referee as the children split off into two teams, the Morgenstern siblings with their pet vs the Lightwoods and Simon. The game was slow going as far as strategy was concerned for their part, but Clary, Jonathan and Jace seemed to have fused into a single unit, fluid in their motions in a similar way that the Lightwoods had. The only difference was he was the wedge dragging them down. This was an all or nothing war, after all. Three people, three mock deaths. That's all they got.

Luckily, stalking Clary had become second nature to Simon, he could do it even if his life depended on it, and so tracking her here was no problem. He knew her. In less than three short months she would turn eleven, and her lessons would drop off completely. He would have to lose her then unless Valentine decided to amp his training like Jace's, though he doubted it would happen, but until then he had these moments, reading her, following her. Simon saw the excitement bundling beneath her skin, she could hardly wait.

Chasing after where he had seen her go down the hill, he slid over the hilltop, and smiled as he saw her descending in a forward tuck roll. He leapt, dropping like a rock as he tumbled down after her. The ground shifted out beneath him, rocks catching him roughly on his open palms as he used the momentum of the fall to vault himself time and time again down the hill, keeping his head tucked so it didn't crash against the ground. With his much larger, heavier frame he caught up with her in no time somewhere three fourths of the way down, snatching her delicate wrist from beneath her so that she tumbled off, spinning onto her side to slow her momentum and hopefully not break her neck.

She wasn't about to be given that chance, however. Simon twisted, dragging her underneath him as they rolled, struggling against one another until they hit the bottom of the hill, Clary pinned beneath him with wide green eyes.

Her chest heaved beautifully, the air filling her lungs in burning rushes that pressed her bare breast bone outward, an inviting site and so delicious a surprise. Her chest glistened with a small layer of sweat from the chase and exertion of running from Alec when he had almost caught her the first time, having kicked her in the calf hard enough that she still felt it hours later after the first mock death he had stolen. The tumble on the hill had left her indecent as well, not that Simon was one to tell her that- he was a boy after all and he loved her.

He loved her, more than he believed anyone else could love her. True enough, she was the only thing good he had left in his life, but now that he was here, he wondered how he would have lived his life if he had never met her. It had to be fate's intervention, God's will that brought him here. She was everything pure in the world, she had to be.

The girl bucked then seeing her chance, trying to dislodge him when he was distracted enough.

Simon drew the stele rapidly out of his belt with a small amount of flourish, feeling rushed to move else she get enough grounding to shift out from beneath him, and brought it down to her chest, seizing up when the tip came to brush the hollow of her long throat, glowing warmly in the presence of Nephilim flesh. The girl's breath caught, and everything froze but Clary and her pet, as her head fell back, arching her back against him slightly.

"POINT!" A woman's scream slammed time back together, and Clary fell back, exasperated as the boy on top of her was yanked up by an actual blade pressed against his neck, drawing upwards.

Simon obeyed weakly, leaning into the man that pressed the short sword across his chin, and raised his hands in surrender, knowing what would befall him if he didn't.

"TIE! Players back to start!" when no one moved the woman came running down the hill, ready to yank the children apart if she had to, "Jonathan let him go! I said no swords!"

He jerked away, and Simon fell, gasping for air. The older boy had half a thought to kick him while he was down, but thought better of it, looking off to the distance to where Jace stood. The other boy gave him a softer stare, and Simon noticed the way his team mates allowed their chance to strike while the two boys were distracted slip through their fingers. Often times, hitting while your opponent's back was turned was employed to gain an upper hand. It was also considered fairly cutthroat and dishonorable. Apparently Jonathan didn't care where his sister was concerned. Her safety was always first.

Rolling to his knees, Simon gasped as Jace helped the girl up and Jonathan kept their distance protected. Isabelle and Alec moved on from their own positions, and the once human boy recognized vaguely that they had entered a hunting pattern, except they weren't playing a game any longer. The Morgenstern boy and the Lightwoods, they were hunting him. Their strategic positions told him they defended Clary, and no force would allow him to get to her again, not with these two marking out the territory. His eyes darted to the blade that still hung in Jonathan's hand just as the boy turned to flash a predatory smile at him.

_**XOX**_

The graying woman plucked leaves from her granddaughter's fiery hair, easing the locks from their disheveled places, her wrinkled face scrunching with scrutiny. She would have much rather the girl stayed inside and read, clean and safe. Roughing it outside was uncalled for, but it made the child's heart soar. Adele wasn't one to crush her dreams and momentary happiness. Her grandson on the other hand was growing to be problematic. He was edgy again, snappish by the slightest altercation. She was worried he would actually cleave the Mundane boy the girl kept after that slight against his sister.

If she could tie nothing to the Morgenstern name, loyalty to the clan was highest, and Jonathan and Clary were the closest siblings she had ever known, bar the dark times in their childhood when Jonathan's condition wasn't being monitored.

"Jonathan, put the sword away. Clary's alright, look, see." In her arms, the child turned to look at her brother, eyes wide as the words reached her. The pale boy didn't look about to let it just drop, his shoulder's taught and his hand tightening on the hilt, raising the blade so slightly that no one would have noticed if their eyes weren't already trained on him. He began looking much like a viper about to strike.

The young girl wrenched out of her grandmother's arms, dashing forth before the worst happened. "Jonathan _**no!"**_

_**XOX**_

Jonathan couldn't help but seethe. How dare that bastard touch his little sister? Play or not, it was unforgivable. Cool on the surface, he searched out Jace, too far away to make any difference in his mood. Oh well.

This one's death would not be mourned by anyone but Clary, and even she would see the light once he set her straight. He would never ask permission. Hell, he rarely asked forgiveness, preferring to demand it, but for his sister he gave everything. His arm tightened, ready to strike the useless bastard down, just as something threw itself hard against his stomach.

Clary slammed against him, her arms wrapping around his chest as she took him down, shock rapidly spreading over his stoic face. The force was enough to upset the weapon in his hand as she flung herself down, settling in the thrush of new leaves, taking him with her as she twisted and dragged with her arms tight at his waist, and their hips collided against the soft leaves below with a muted crunch before he rocked hard, catching his balance poised over her.

Sitting up abruptly on his forearm, Jonathan towered over her, his face askew with confusion before he laughed heartily, his hand moving of its own volition to slick his hair back, a brilliant smile shining on his face. The act confused her, the switch was so quick she had no idea what had happened, but the darkness in his eyes was gone suddenly and she knew everyone was fine again, safe from her brother's wrath. Clary couldn't help but smile too; he was alright this time, despite everything her father had done to him. She would always make him alright, she had to. The thought of what she had to leave behind was ever present in her thoughts, and as Simon closed the distance between them again, Clary could feel his despair, ever present behind the life he had built up between them.

But everything was fine, it had to be. Because Jonathan needed her and always would. His hand caught in her hair, bringing his lips softly to her cheek, as he plucked more of the debris from her lovely hair.

Turning her face from the mundane boy that centered his world on her, she smiled at her brother, her hand brushing his silvery locks behind his ear gently, before pressing a kiss of her own to the side of his mouth, the lips twitching as the warmth made him smile brighter.

He was what hers revolved around, after all. Her very existence was just so that he would live on.

_**XOX**_

_**(Hours later, end match) **_

"Sloppy Simon." Clary sighed, zipping up her jacket indignantly before folding her arms back across her chest. Her tone was nagging, alight with superiority and a tad bit condescending, but it was alright, because she was just trying to help him, "You should have just ended it when you had me down."

She was swaying again, Simon noticed, with that elusive twitch to her hips he had yet to wrap his head around, and knew he was in trouble with her. He had irked her brother, causing her trouble again, and it didn't please her in the slightest.

The girl had chosen to take the short way home through one of many the thick corners of the woods, to her companions dismay, and her rush to get home and away from Simon was evident. She didn't even try to hide it as she let branches snap back at him and didn't offer him help as she flew over broken stumps and logs. "What if you had come across a succubus, Si? It would have devoured you."

"Yeah but I would have slept with it, first, so win- win." His tone seemed snappish despite the leveled nature he tried to deliver it in, leaving it to sound like a bitter comment. The girl paused to look at him in confusion, before turning away quickly, figuring that she just didn't want to deal with him and his issues today.

He attempted what he had seen pretty much everyone he had encountered since coming here do, and touched the girl's coppery hair, snagging a browning leaf from a curl and liberating it. Clary reeled back, whipping around as she slapped his hand away. "What do you think you're doing?"

Sheepishly, the boy held the maple leaf out for inspection, waving it slightly back and forth. She gave him a dark look, turning and marching away again, leaving him to follow her shadow weakly.

Simon, despite his significantly taller height, still struggled to keep up with the girl, especially the way she liked ducking and diving into brush. He could see that she was mad with him, but it went deeper than that. She had been cramped up inside for months and she'd been chomping away at the bit desperate to get out, and finally the adults let her do as she pleaded and begged for weeks for, and took them out for an outing. He had destroyed her perfect day outside, and for that he was sorry.

But she would have him begging before the day was done. That was how this family simply did things.

He could hear Jace and Jonathan conversing in whispers not far behind, the elder boy quick with his blade to just cut away the thick foliage they passed, whereas Clary was nimble enough to just twist and leap over things.

Then again, Clary was not contending with a twisted ankle like Jace was. Jonathan was simply being a gentleman. The thought made Simon smirk.

"You were getting tired. I was doing you a favor."

Rounding on him, she slugged him in the shoulder, "And you think Downworlders would give me a break, should I run? That they might let me rest, should I grow weary? That's not reality, Simon. The reality is they will turn that weakness on you in a moment."

She glared at him for several moments, waiting for his response. Nothing was forthcoming, so she turned on her heel and marched off, content that she had won this fight.

"You're wrong Clary," after several moments of silence came his voice, long after the girl had thought the argument had been won and was put to bed. "You're right to think that of Downworlders, which is why _**I**_ have to train, why Isabelle and Alec and Jace are all working like _**dogs**_ to be the best there is. We accept the reality for what it is, but you don't."

He laughed, a soft haunting noise that made her turn and watch as he continued past her towards the house, "We know we're all going to see the battlefield, which means we are going to need to be at our best so we can survive. But you Clary, you ought to focus on what makes you happy, because there's no way you'll _**ever **_have to strain yourself in a fight; your father and your brother will never let that happen. We are the Soldiers, Clary, and you are a Princess. So go on, lock yourself up in that room of yours and cry because life isn't fair and you can't always get your way, because that is reality, and you are ignoring it, not I."

The green-eyed beauty couldn't even find it in her to follow him again, standing with her shoulders hunched until the others had caught up with her, folding in like dough. Silently, she let her brothers and friends draw her away, though she wanted nothing more than to crumple in a heap on the forest floor and wait until some beast came to find her.

Simon had… snapped at her.

She wasn't sure how she felt about this matter. No one else had ever spoken to her that way, and she couldn't turn to any of her companions, either, because he already walked a tightrope over a deadly pit.

And below, she was certain there was the same monster that lurked in the woods for her.

Later, in the safety of her room when she was left alone would she ponder it and how she would respond to such blatant vicious truth, but not now. Now she put on the happy mask she hid behind because that too was reality. This world of hers had no room for doubt, no room for her confused emotions.

Everything she did and said was weighed against her, willing her to break and this would not break her. She would not let it.

She would rise above this, and when her mind was clear on her course she would follow through, true.

That was her reality.

_**XOX**_

"**Dogs, **huh?**" **Jace laughed in response, sidling up to the Lightwood boy. They walked so close that their body heat permeated through the layers of gear, their knuckles almost brushing against each other as they walked side by side in the tight hallway leading towards the office. This was the boys' first summons, and neither had any idea what to expect, but Alec had at least came here once before and Jace was looking to him for direction.

Alec had avoided this wing of the home since they were children. The way it was safeguarded and treated was that of a sanctuary; no one came or went without first being asked to. The only people he knew of to ever walk this hall were in fact Valentine, Jocelyn _(he assumed, though he had no real proof either way_), Maryse, and Jonathan. Even Clary was uninvited, and she was allowed everything she desired. He had been forced to come last time under duress, Jonathan had done something horrid to Clary and he was the only person to calm him at the time.

Now should that happen again, he had no doubt they would call for Jace.

"That's what Jonathan said. If he's training like a dog, what are we doing then, Alec? I can barely walk without limping." It was true too. The blonde-haired man had been stressing too much and Alec had definitely sprained his brother- in- arm's ankle in that last match, his muscles tightened with every step now. He was strong enough not to bitch about it, but the twitch in his face alerted Alec to the injury and the lack of rest the boy responded with was appalling. The fault lay with him and he yearned to help Jace, but was refused outright multiple times already. It would take much longer to mend without runes and without rest, but he kept promising both would be addressed later when he could attend to it.

Later appeared, Alec thought bitterly, when Jonathan would give him the time of day. He had done well to stave off the bitter comments that niggled in the forefront of his mind, shoving them down in order to maintain friendship with the boys, but this was getting ridiculous. Alec was of equal caliber or better than Jonathan when it came to iratzes, his hands much smoother and lighter at the task, and both boys knew it. The only one that beat them was Clary, who could hit you with a mark and you wouldn't even know it, but her healing powers were being withheld until they _**"learned to play nice with Simon." **_

The blue eyed boy could hear her nagging voice now. They could do without the best, and deal with sub par if it meant they could continue beating down the Mundie pet.

Reaching the door, both boys idled. They were hesitant, but knew they had to be punctual, and so Alec reached over and knocked three times and again they waited, on baited breath for a response.

None came from within, not even the rustle of movement. They looked at each other, looking for their next move. Neither were forthcoming, and tired of the silence, Jace took action as he always did, wrenching the door open with a rapid motion before Alec could stop him.

The boy shrugged, his eyebrow arched in a silent question as if to say _**'what next?'**_ as a movement darted inside the room too quick to see completely, but enough to seize the boy closest to the office.

A rat ran across Jace's foot and he shrieked like a woman, throwing himself against the wall as he went for his blade. The act made Alec bust a seam, slamming into the threshold as he tried to keep from toppling over in his mirth, and the rodent disappeared down the hall to safety. The taller boy punched him in the shoulder, but it was worth it, just having that image to keep him company. "I thought it was something threatening you jackass!"

"Oh yes, because the big, bad rat is often a bedtime tale told to children to keep them wandering into darkened corners of the house." His face cracked again, and Alec rubbed his watering eyes with the back of his arm, pushing into the room past Jace since he already took the first move and swung the door open to reveal an empty office. "Alright_**, Winston**_, get over it." Jace followed mutely, seething slightly from his embarrassment. His shoulders arched outward from his tense pose as he rounded through the entryway and into the massive office.

Alec went immediately to the desk, going to seat himself in one of the chairs placed out to make visitors at ease, which was a laughable attempt when there were no visitors that came here typically speaking, and he doubted anyone would feel comfortable with Valentine staring them down with his pitiless dark eyes from across the monstrous, empty desk. He hesitated, seeing a note with his name on it, the only clutter on the surface, and picked it up timidly. His eyes scanned it as Jace looked up and around the room in wonder.

Alec didn't blame him, it was a pretty miraculous room, surrounded by shelves upon shelves of books running between seven pillars with two windows in the middle to light the room set behind Valentine's chair.

"Valentine says that we ought to make ourselves comfortable. I say we come back later. That's what would make me comfortable." Alec said looking around the room, tossing the note to the desk open. Something didn't sit well with him, and the longer he sat here, the worse he felt.

"Look." Jace's hand pointed to the vaulted ceiling where the wall went inward more than the rest of the wall of books, a secret single bookshelf running along the ceiling that neither boy could reach, about three feet across and between every two, a wide Corinthian column branched out in a flourish, an archaic symbol bored into the marble in the center of every other column, the outside two bare. The symbols were not anything Jace recognized, save the symbol he recognized to the way right hand side, the rune of angelic power. Beside it, in the middle, was what appeared to be a flower, a hibiscus perhaps, and all the way to the left side, a symbol that gave him a sense of dread, like he was drowning, almost having breached the surface, only to be drug even deeper. It looked like something crawling out of nightmares, and Jace turned away, towards Alec.

"I didn't see that shelf but..." he gulped grabbing Jace's sleeve, "We should probably go."

"C'mon, Alec. Aren't you curious at least?" he tried to goad him, and damn it, it almost worked. Alec was curious but not because it was out of their reach. The books were sequenced, marked in an archaic way that reminded him of the Grey Book they each had studied from in their early classroom studies, desperate to remember all of the symbols for later. Alec had good memory, and knew the binding well, most of the runes tucked away in his mind for later use. The books were all bound in a similar fashion, hand sewed with canvas overlaying the spine, rich gold gilding the symbols that were so familiar, but so different that he couldn't understand them.

"No," came his response, though it was a blatant lie, "and I don't think we- hey are you listening to me, Jace! Get DOWN from there!"

The boy turned, caught in the act and smiled, as he reached to climb higher on the bookcase. The shelf he hunted was a good foot and a half above his head, and Alec had no doubt he intended to climb, "If you're that worried, come help me."

Alec stood torn, and after several moments, rushed to his brother in arms, helpless when it came to the boy. He was asking for his help, and damn it, he was not one to deny Jace of all people.

He hated being the obedient one all the time, anyway.

The bookshelf seemed sturdy enough to hold both of their combined weights, but he wanted to be safe, and staggered himself a shelf over to balance his weight. Rubbing his hands together to warm up the muscles in his palms, he leapt upward, catching the side of a column and a shelf edge.

It was slow moving. He was right to check the security of the unit, because once they got about five feet off the ground, they found that every move needed to be taken in tandem, the unit swaying ever so softly and only growing the further they advanced without each other; even still maintaining equal distance the unit swayed uncontrollably, but at least it seemed grounded enough. Nearly a half hour had passed, and they had only progressed maybe halfway. If Jace were to stand on his shoulders, maybe they would just be able to-

A noise down the hall alerted them that Valentine approached, his footsteps heavy and pounding in the small hallway. Jace swore under his breath, and let go of the ledge, dropping with a hard jolt to land on his feet. Alec only had moments to let go as well, as the counterweight disappeared and the tall shelving began to lean away from the wall, threatening to crush them both beneath it.

The black-haired boy hit harder than Jace had, having been a good two shelves above him, just as the man in question opened the door.

Valentine looked quizzically to them both in turn, taking in the way both boys seemed to be mildly out of breath, and the way Alec seemed to favor his one foot over the other. Jace seemed shaken as well, but he stood tall and proud, just as he raised him to do in the face of authority, and the look turned to suspicion when his adopted son did not greet him or look him in the eye.

"What have you two been up to?"

The two children stood before the male man, trembling, their eyes cast away from him so he couldn't see what was in their heart of hearts. Jace was first to find his tongue, and he whispered a half- hearted, "Nothing."

The silence reigned over them, as Valentine dissected their stances, the tightening of the hands that clutched on to one another, desperate for that last contact. They seemed to fold inward the longer he watched, giving everything away by the way they stood, and his own theories on what had occupied the children without him there to guide them. Nodding finally, the man went to the desk drawers, and pulled out a pad of paper and a quill, taking his seat and gesturing to the leather-backed seats rigid before him, "Let's begin, then."

It brought him great satisfaction to see the children that he knew lied to him limp heavily around the desk to take seats in the awfully crafted furniture before his desk. With a smile, he went about his business, allowing the intruders to believe they had gotten away Scott-free.

For now, at least.

_**XOX**_

_**"And the rat left the scattered bits of the little girl's flesh throughout the walls. The end." **_Jace finished up from beneath the elder boy.

Jonathan sat perch atop his brother, his hands tightening and twisting away the tension in his finely muscled back in an agitated manner that Jace didn't seem to notice. His cool palms grasped the spine along the underside of his ribs and shifted, wrenching a sharp pop and a gasp of pleasure from the boy.

Jace couldn't help but purr, turning to look over his shoulder to the pale boy seated on his hips, "So what do you think?"

The older boy's mouth fell agape. What did he think of it? He had demon blood coursing through his veins and he couldn't formulate that horrid of a story. The boy stared at him, expecting a standing ovation, but all Jonathan could do was stare in horror at the face that smiled so innocently over his shoulder, the head which had formulated and offered this cutthroat tale up as bed time story.

Jonathan regretted trading massages for stories. He doubted he was even going to be able to sleep now. Damn it all, he couldn't even throw Jace out, not unless he wanted the boy to be very upset with him.

His silence spurred the other boy on, dejectedly so, as he turned his face to muffle into the pillow, "If that wasn't good enough, I could tell you another one. Oh I got it, this one I call how the wolf rapes-"

"NO!" the cry came out faster than he intended, his large, cool hands slipping beneath the pillow and seized the boy's offending lips. He would not endure another of the boy's actively morbid fantasies. Not if he could manage it.

The warmth of his lips moving beneath his palm sent a sharp chill down the pale boy's spine. He had taken everything of the boy he could bring himself to ask for, and Jace had given it willingly enough for his liking, but still he desired more. It made Jace feel off, he could see as much every time he touched him more than brief kisses, even still after months of the same routine. Every time he beat the shit out of Alec and Jace, and every night the boy crawled back to him for Jonathan to fix him.

His hand traveled from cupping the full lips down his throat, gently as he messaged the soft and tender flesh there. And to his suspicion, Jace twinged away from his loving caress, the act second nature to him, he knew, but it didn't mean it didn't tear Jonathan's heart.

No one loved him, certainly not his father, not Jace, and not Clary. He was a monster- who could love something so malevolent beneath the surface.

Jonathan rolled off the boy, allowing him room to breathe. He seemed too far backed into a corner, like he was about to strike out at any moment, and that was farthest from what the black-eyed boy wanted. Jace squirmed out of the gap he had allowed him, going to the opposite side of the bed to curl up and pin him with that stare of his that told Jonathan he wanted nothing else to pass between them. It made his heart wrench. Reaching out, his finger brushed the hand that clutch the pillow in front of Jace's nose, catching his pinky finger with his index.

"If you come back, I'll make it worth your while." The look he gave promised comfort and affection but Jace didn't budge a muscle. Jonathan thought better of the offer and he pulled the despondent boy to him, keeping him from fleeing as he let the boy occupy the majority of his chest.

His fingers curled up in the gold locks, and he felt the boy's fingers hand tighten over his heart, tucked beside his face as he breathed out rapidly, "Why?"

The eyes watched him, ever the timid creature in this relationship. Instead of a response, he drew the boy forward to press his lips against the corner of his mouth tenderly, "Kiss me, and I will tell you. I asked for your all, and you give me nothing. So give me your favor, and I will move the world for you."

Jace shook as he moved, shifting his weight so it centralized in his abdomen, weighing his options. He appeared so at war with himself, that Jonathan just about threw him out of the room. He didn't want the boy's apprehension. The thought died out, as the warm fingers on his chest pressed down, pressure and significant weight on it as Jace leaned over Jonathan, his breath wispy gales across his neck.

His soft lips melded against Jonathan's in a wet seal, not a romantic kiss in anyway, though it gave Jonathan a sense of victory and loss all at the same time. He wanted the boy's heart, like he had once desired his sister's. He had realized it for some time now, but he was no closer to gaining it. Jace distanced himself constantly, and perhaps it was for the best. He couldn't hurt his angel boy if he drew far enough away.

"Get out."

The sound of his own voice startled him, the abruptness of it abrasive to his sensitive ears that had grown accustomed to soft and gentle whispers of prodding to Jace and the responding soft whimpers and sighs that escaped the other boy when he was unhinged. He could feel the desire to destroy him, to defile him in a way that there would be no way to come back from. He wanted Jace to love him, to a desperation that he would steal whatever affection he could. If anything should happen to him, the boy wouldn't forgive, he wouldn't forget.

He was of Clary's kind, but he wasn't Clary.

Jace was stronger, and much less likely to forgive his misdeeds.

The other boy whipped back, or perhaps he had shoved him off, he wasn't entirely sure. He could feel rage burning at his insides, much like the way paper curled when you let it too close to an open flame before it caught ablaze. Jace's bright amber eyes stared back hurt and full of disbelief as Jonathan withdrew entirely, sitting up away from him with his back to him, his feet already searching for the floor.

"Hey- Wha- Why.. Jonathan stop!"

The rapid abruptness had him frightened. Jonathan was nothing but sure in his actions, he always had been. The boy turned dark eyes on him, and Jace's chest tightened in a mix of fear and hurt, knowing that he had somehow caused this, though he couldn't wrap his head around the how.

A hand clamped around his wrist, dragging him out of bed. The blanket that had been tucked around him fell away to the floor as he stumbled along behind him half naked and confused, his arm taught from being pulled along.

"Because no one ever walks away from me. Because the way to overcome great evil is to love something that is equally good." Jonathan murmured, knowingly with a rough scratchiness to his voice that threatened tears, before he pulled Jace against him, devouring him. The kiss was heated, and vicious, in a way that Jonathan hadn't been with him since Clary had been added to the mix. It was desperate and dismissing, like a final goodbye, full of teeth that punished him for unknown misdeeds and a darting tongue that spoke forgiveness almost immediately after, and the innocent boy couldn't wrap his head around why this was all happening. When they broke, Jace could taste blood, could feel the rawness of his lips and knew there must be a break, and his gaze fell to his offenders guarded one. Jonathan's eyes were bright again, the deep emerald green returning around the pupils showing that they were definitely dilated, almost to the point of being pinpricks.

The door opened beside him and the older boy pulled away again, distancing his body and his heart by steeling his gaze, looking away from him to the fire across the room as if it would give him strength, "And because you walk away, I know you _**are**_ what is best for me. So walk away Jace, and take the damn darkness with you."

Jace pulled away, shocked and hurt, refusing to leave, and gave Jonathan no other choice. He had to be rid of him now, before he did anything else unforgivable, and he seized the softer boy and rushed him out of the room by his bicep and shoved him unceremoniously into the cold hallway.

The wide- eyed boy could do nothing as the warmth shut behind the door, locking him away from it and the boy within as he wrapped his arms around his chest hoping to keep what remained close, the last image playing in his mind the hurt look on Jonathan Morgenstern's face, the way the fire had caught and illuminated his pale hair like a burning halo and the weakness in his frame as the door shut between them, cutting them away from each other. Weakly, Jonathan fell to the floor, sliding against the slab, just as Jace tested the solidity, trying to press back inside where his life had been cozy and content. There was no give, just as there was none in the resolve Jonathan held as his world crumbled around him.

The chill in the hall forced him to move on. He had to go somewhere, perhaps put clothes on, and get on with sleep. On auto-pilot, he moved against his own will back to his bedroom, intent to see the night out alone, his insides turning to ice with every step he took away.

_**XOX**_

Jonathan slid down the closed door, clutching at his sides as a sob ripped from deep inside his chest. He could already feel the darkness within ebbing to the surface.

The door shook behind him, and he knew Jace was trying to get back in. Too bad, he was not about to let him see him like this.

Eventually, Jace gave up, and went away. Jonathan shivered,, cold on the floor, but was so unwilling to go to bed alone or get up at all, for that matter.

The chill eased the pain, and he couldn't care less as he began to cry, drawing his knees up to his chest, his face falling to the knobby joints. It warmed him enough that he could wallow a bit longer where he was.

The cries woke Clary, he could hear her shifting around in her bedroom, could feel her footfalls as she ran about the room, this way and that. He knew she battled internally, to come here, to soothe him and forgive as she always had, the evil wretchedness he was disposed to act on, or to return to bed and forget she had heard him. She paced, and her brother closed his eyes, crying harder.

She wouldn't forgive him, couldn't. He was too wicked. He had to push these two sweet, innocent people as far as he could from him before he did something irreparable to them.

Silently, there came a soft knock on the door, and Clary immediately tried opening it as she often did, only to find it would only give a few inches, his weight against it forcing it to halt not far into swinging inward.

"Jonathan?" her voice was soft and raspy, as her fingers slid between the gap the door had allowed, searching for what blocked her way, anything that she might move to get inside. Her fingertips brushed the cold, bare flesh of his shoulder, scorching it with her warmth before it slid down his arm to his bent elbow, as far as she could reach, feeling the trembling skin as he cried silently now. "It's alright, Jonathan, I'm here now."

It wasn't alright, and it never would be. He was destroying her, destroying Jace, every time he stole from them. He desired love he was unworthy of, and they sacrificed it to him nightly, hoping to keep a facade alive

Eventually, he would let her in, crawl after into bed and let her hold him to her chest as she often did over the years, increasingly as their lives progressed. Eventually he would let her warm him and kiss him and tell him everything would be alright. She would lie and he would listen, because he wanted it all to be true.

He wanted to be the boy she saw, the one that deserved affection and obtained it willingly and freely. But now he would try to be her brother and not a starving man hungry for flesh and rabid for love.

Right now he would try to protect her from the world, and himself and the darkness that wrapped around them. Right now, he would be her big brother and protect him from himself.

His hand fell away with her insistence, and her fingers wrapped around his affectionately through the door. He was losing himself to her will and her wishes, even if she naively didn't understand what they were. He would let her win, so she would be happy, and he would eventually destroy her.

But right now, he was still her brother, and he could protect her from himself.

Leaning his head back again, he cried louder again, as the despair overtook him. He could feel Clary, her worry bubbling over as she pressed closer to the door, her eyes falling shut. She knew there was no saving him, she must.

He wouldn't let her sacrifice everything she was to save him.

_**XOX**_

The morning was wrought with unease. Alec was being summoned again and had woken up to a slumbering Jace, cradling him around the waist like he was the most important thing in his life. The blonde had the most serene expression on his face, and his full lips were inviting, despite the mild injuries that they had sustained from the night before, bruised and cracked even after several reapplied iratzes. He was the loveliest of sights to wake up to, even if Alec had to remind himself that this was temporary and unwelcome.

He had to keep reminding himself of that fact.

Vaguely the boy recalled opening the door sometime past midnight to a bleary- eyed Jace and having the other boy crawl uninvited into his bed where he took hold of his pillow and held it tightly to his chest, crying into the pillow cover.

Now Alec unwrapped himself from the very unwilling blonde, and tucked him in with a deep sigh.

Why couldn't the boy just sleep in his own damn bed? Or Jonathan's, or Clary's, if he had no other option? He was too busy playing the lovelorn best friend. He didn't have time for mixed signals being thrown his way from the object of his affections.

Jace threw himself towards the now empty side of the mattress, searching blindly for him before he settled down with Alec's pillow clutched to his chest again as he curled in a fetal position.

Shaking his head, Alec left his bedroom silently, leaving a note for Isabelle wedged in the door jam in case she came to rouse him before he returned to deal with the boy.

_**XOX**_

The air was much thicker than Alec could ever remember it being, as Valentine stared at him with his black eyes. He shut the door because he had to, but regretted it as the pressure collapsed over him

Valentine settled the grey leather, gilded book in question before the boy's seat. He gestured that he ought to take it, but Alec shook his head, remaining planted firmly where he stood, his hand grasping the door handle as if he could command enough strength to flee.

"What's this, too shy to take something when it's presented to you? If you'd like, I can go and leave you to read it in peace." His tone struck Alec as condescending and challenging.

The moment passed between them in silence, and Alec stepped up briskly and picked up the book mutely, turning it around idly in his hands as he understood that Valentine knew exactly what had passed between he and Jace while they waited for their morning directives yesterday. He doubted that this was anything but a trap, one he was walking into willingly by being gloated well enough, but he couldn't lose face. He watched him, not trusting him for a moment, his friend's father, as Valentine stood up from his seat, and went to stand beside the window.

"You ought to read it. I find it a thrilling piece myself."

"Why?" the pale boy's voice came out broken, knowing he didn't want to hear the answer, but too proud not to ask for the answer to the niggling question that wrapped itself around his heart.

His hands flipped the book around in his hands, admiring the workmanship that went into the binding, from the silver leather cover to the gold leafing embedded in its surface, an elegant swirling of lines that formed what he once thought was a flower blooming, but could now see it was something else entirely: wings unfurling.

The sunlight outside illuminated the man's face as he drew the curtain aside, looking out. It was a habit he shared with his son, the boy realized and Alec didn't have to wonder what the man looked to, as a small smile passed his lips in the exact same manner it did on Jonathan, and he glanced away from Clary, as it had to be her that affected these men in the exact same way every time, to someone nearby who was with her.

His jaw tightened drastically as he began to speak again, "You are intelligent. The best of your generation, I would wager. It is why your mother has pressed you and my son together, but I fear there is not enough to keep the two of you together. You are, however involved in our business, and so I cannot let you simply slip away, nor the opportunity you represent."

Those dark pitiless eyes turned to him then, taking away his breath, "You are not here to be punished. I have never thought that you would be so daring to steal from me, but I am not one to halt progression of one's knowledge. People have called me a zealot, a mad- man, a monster against my own kind. But I have done much to help our people, even if it was against our nature and traditions. I liberated our people, and I guide them towards a better tomorrow, because that is my lone responsibility. I would have your brilliant mind lend me a hand in the occasions that I need it most, Alec, as well as your silence on the matters I seek you out for. In payment, you are free to delve into my life's work and every book here, that journal before you included. I withhold nothing now, knowing you will keep our secret."

As an afterthought, he smiled at the boy, the look setting askew on his normally well sculpted features. He could see how so many had fallen in line with Valentine Morgenstern- he was a charming man, and the way he spun words had him going in circles, and Alec considered himself fairly intelligent. "Not that you have much of a choice on the matter, but I would like you to think it over."

"That is all I ask of you this day. Go, contemplate my offer and what it would bring you and your kin." He leaned backward, his hands digging deep into his pockets as he watched the boy. Alec felt like he was being dismissed, and thanked the man for his time before turning stiffly and moving away, the book tucked delicately beneath his underarm.

"Oh, and Alexander."

Alec turned abruptly, clinging to the tome with a sense of urgency and care. "Feel free to make your own notes, should you think I got anything wrong."

He nodded, and closed the door as silently as he could, rushing away. He could feel the pull of Morgenstern's thin lips, his hollow laugh from down the hall as he escaped to his room, the hallways growing frigid as the haunting noise chased after him, reminding him that there really was no corner of the world that Valentine Morgenstern could not reach.

That thought alone was humbling enough that he barely noticed that Jace had gone on his own by time Alec returned to his bedroom, deciding it was a bad enough day already to call it a day even though the sun had just started breaching the horizon, and returned to his covers with the journal he had been gifted and charged.

He could already feel the cold clasp of chains around his neck, tugging him down as he just opened the cover.

_**XOX**_

It had been months now, and Maryse had crawled over the vast continent so that she knew enough of the dangers that lurked in the valleys and the hills, and the clear path the middle offered for travel. It was dangerous as well, however, because the middle-land was clearly a battleground that represented a challenge to the ruling clan, and that challenge had both sides rushing forward to re-establish the hold on the land whenever anyone passed into it.

The villagers outside the western wall had tried to stop her, too. They had told her dreadful tales of the monsters that ruled this land, and viciously struck out against man and Nephilim alike blindly if you ventured too far North or East. They told her the tales of Juro- Gumo, Yuki- Onna and of Tsuchi- Gumo whom the natives had warned might drag her away to feed upon as often they were known to do, to vastly different, but equally horrifying ends. They were women well-spoken of, perhaps respected as well, but each struck fear in the mortal men that urged her to stay enough that the wall had been a line drawn out for them that they would not pass. None of them had run after her as she pushed towards the wilderness to the north.

She had long grown tired of the beasts that ruled these lands. If it were not for the child she sought, she would have set the whole place ablaze. But somewhere, there was a young girl running a muck, pumped full of demonic blood that made her one of the beasts she so abhorred. By now she had learned the difference between the Lycans in Europe and their counterparts Kitsu in Asia and their vastly different nature and what both threatened when she came too near and how disastrous it was to mistake one for the other; she had stumbled upon Kappa and Tengu whom had tried to rip her apart and saw with her own eyes the blaze of the phoenix light up the night sky as it burned a trail across the darkness, giving her light when no moon stood to guide her.

Maryse looked hopefully around as she trudged along, praying that she might come upon the Chinese beasts, but none strayed so close that she might interact with them. They seemed to be wise enough when danger was imminent. Still, what she would have given for something she could cut through with little to no challenge. These Nihon demon-borne were too intelligent. No wonder the native monsters were losing ground.

The search was beginning to be such a drag that Maryse hadn't believed her eyes when the least of the harmful beasts of the land went charging forth past her, a black dog that shot across the sky to blot out the moon before it fell elegantly in a spiraling twist that rolled its back legs away from its front in it's descent to the ground.

With no other leads, the black-haired woman rushed tiredly after it. Surely it meant something had happened.

Very few things could disrupt the legendary Tiangou from its ritual dance with the sky after all.

The sight she was met with floored her, however, and Maryse fell to the ground rather than running headfirst willingly into a blood- slaughter.

_**XOX**_

Running along the ancient wall, a small girl laughed darkly, as she used her superior speed to dispose of her enemies. The Kitsune and the Tiangou monsters had crept too close to her home again, and for that she would not forgive them. She had infinite disdain for shape- shifters and lycanthrope a like, though they were the only other creatures that dared to come near her, the only ones that could ever be her friends, or dare to threaten her for authority over her land. The entire continent was over-run by them now, and they were struggling to gain more ground for their respective clans, but they would not cross this land. The only soul that would walk those walls would be hers. The only beast within the towers would be the one that lurked beneath her flesh.

A female shape- shifter came at her with all she was worth, throwing teeth and claw at her face and throat as the petite, bronze- fleshed girl tossed the corpse of another fox away. With a twist the girl leapt out of dangers way just in time for the claws that had been outstretched for her heart impacted with the earth, and the girl landed with her thigh's against the beast neck holding fast and tight, and in an instant, all that remained of the black blue-haired fox woman was a corpse with its head spun halfway around, half- changed.

The Tiangou got the message, and turned away to return another day. She let it be this time, knowing the black dogs would always return and she would get the chance again later to deal with their filth. They were the messengers of war after all, and a fight was always on her horizon.

Nothing was left on the plains now, save for the human woman she smelled not far off, observing her. She had watched everything, and the young girl waited for her to come at her like any other enemy. She simply watched, absorbing her like a flower might rain, and it disturbed her. What sort of creature sat and waited? Surely one of great intelligence. It must be strategizing.

The wind caught and stirred up their hair enough that the woman looked like a raven flame had devoured the ground where her face laid in the thick marsh land's brambling greenery.

Dropping to the ground, the girl began to run through the thick brush and grasses, nearly disappearing entirely. Surely the woman would lose interest in what she could no longer see.

_**XOX**_

With a cry, Maryse darted after the child, trying to soothe her into staying. She seemed startled before she took off, like a deer in the headlights. The chase was only momentary; the elder woman could only see that she headed in this direction. That would not help her anymore since the child disappeared into the tall grasses and shrubs that dotted along and grew in mass to separate the hill from the Great Wall from the marshland.

It was the child that reemerged crawling over the wall that showed her the path to follow, the minor changes in the foliage that let her give chase again. She could see her small black eyes dart back to look at her, just as she disappeared again from sight to the safety over the wall.

Well safe enough, she supposed, for a girl that lived among monsters and beasts.

The climb was slower than anticipated. The rock was decaying in spots, and her significantly heavier form took away chunks of the stone bricking that stayed the elements for millennia. Once she emerged, her arms burned from holding her own body up, sometimes one handed, against the sharp wall. She dropped to her knees, taking shuttering breaths that rasped on the intake like she had strained her lungs as well in her efforts. She suddenly felt so weak and tired, like she could lay down here for a while under the stars.

Leaning back to sit on her calves and the toes of her knee-high boots, she wiped at her face as she pulled her hair up and out of her sweat-dripping face, hoping the act would cool her.

A noise drew her attention to the open mouth of one of the tower's doorways, to the delicate child she hunted, her hands tight in her torn dress as she pulled the wreckage she wore up to expose her dirty, knobby knees.

Before Maryse could formulate a plan or call out to her, the girl bolted away again with only the momentary hesitation that allowed the Shadow- hunter woman to get a good enough look at her. She was healthy and strong for a kid left to rot in this hell hole.

Not willing to lose her again, she pushed past the pain, and stumbled after her, her footfalls loud as she splashed in puddles that muddled along the path of the wall and up into the tower keep.

The thin, dark skinned girl crawled over the rubble in the stairwell, melding and becoming one with the shadows. The moon lit her in flashes, the light hardly reaching her as she ascended the staircase. She was one with the shadows, and as Maryse chased after her, she found herself chasing illusions as well as the child. She saw her jump from windows and dart back past her in the staircase, only to see her dart off to one of the landings that lined the spiral case. Catching sight of her dark hair waving on the wind, the elder woman rushed forward, crashing down one of the abandoned halls.

The act left her breathless and hot again, and she immediately regretted following so blindly, for thinking the child that had fell two Kitsune and scarred off the Tiangou was anything but cunning and capable of protecting herself. The mother in her, however cried out, as she saw the child crash into a tall, ominous creature with a thin, pale and lanky body that was garbed in a pitch-black bustled dress that sharply bound her waistline to practically nothing. The hit jostled the dark-haired girl, as she turned wide eyes upward, and the woman looked down unmoved in her position, a wickedly sharp smile spreading across her entire jawline and her blood red lips gave way in the smirk, as four thin arms that terminated in five razor-like fingertips that raised the hair on the woman's neck rested against the child's arms and shoulders, holding her where she hit.. They resembled the tips of a spider's-

Instinct cried for her to escape, but she could not will her body to respond when a child was so close to danger. "Juro- Gumo- sama!"

Sincerely, Maryse dreaded that she had to come across this particular beast right now when she tried to soothe the girl. She was the one creature to truly give her the creeps, and in the tower keep, she could now see the finely spun webs that covered the walls around them catching the moonlight as they shimmered delicately, a poor creature off in the corner bound and beyond help.

The tall, beautiful woman stood proudly upright, a sharp pitch to her hip line that jutted the bustle out sharply, with her hands clasped before her on the soft shoulders of the girl that the Shadow Hunter woman had chased for hours now. She gazed coldly to where Maryse had entered the room with hollow and solid black eyes, a malevolent smile on her face. The girl she pressed to her pitch black gown turned her face upwards, looking up to the woman that held her, a smile reaching her eyes and Maryse took a tentative step backwards, realizing she should get herself as far away from here as she could, "Haa-Haa. Eat?"

The woman laughed darkly, the melody eerie through the cold room, "No, my child. You do not eat your own kind."

The spider woman plucked the lacy dress away from her knee and came down to the level with the child. The bustle jolted outward, like a spider's abdomen, much like Maryse expected it to, hard and thorax-like in its shell-like layering, the lacy and hard layers like that of a shell over her backside. The tall woman reached upwards, caressing the girl's long, filthy hair lovingly, "You've done well, child."

"Juro- Gumo- sama. I implore you; let the girl go, do not devour her. I have been sent by her kin to-"

"Juro- Gumo indeed." The laugh that erupted from the woman tore through to Maryse's very soul, "That is but one name I go by, none of which you are important enough to pronounce. How dare you, little Shadow- hunter, insinuate that I would eat my own child. My daughter is my entire world."

_**Mother..?**_ Looking between the two, Maryse could tell they were not mother and daughter, too many differences stark in the way they were built, but they shared the same malicious aura, a hungry flickering that reminded her of Jonathan in his darkest hours, when he truly lost himself. She breathed out, suddenly careless, "You're not her mother."

"I am as good as." The wicked pull returned to her face, and the razor teeth flashed at her as she laughed, a guttural sound that made her teeth snap together over and over like scissors closing, "And you are a liar, Maryse Lightwood."

The sound of her name on the monster's tongue had her shaken more than the noises it emitted.

"Fret not," her voice lulled and she stood again, her rise imperial in nature, "I know why you come. How is our Valentine Morgenstern these days? Well, I hope, for the sake of the son at least."

A breeze whipped through the empty room, catching all three sets of raven hair and whipping them off to the side. Her hair blindsided her blue eyes, blocking out the girl she was there to collect and the woman that stood in her way.

"Valentine sends his regards, but he requires the girl now." She knew there was no amount of lying she could pass now, the creature before her knew everything, somehow. The viciousness to her had Maryse second guessing every moment she remained here.

"Come, eat with us," the black-eyed woman waved her hand, summoning a feast over the slab in the corner, where, to Maryse's horror, sat the silk-wrapped husk of the poor victim whom must have been the last to venture here, and she gestured that the armor- clad woman ought to sit, to partake, as the child squealed her excitement, darting towards a pile of various succulent fruits, vibrant greens, with pink and pale yellow spread about in rind. Her tiny fingers delved into the pile, selecting what Maryse would normally have taken to be a red sea urchin, large and dangerous spines rolling against the child's small, frail hands. She struggled to break it open and gave a sharp cry as one sharp spine punctured her finger, drawing blood.

"Give me the durian, child, before you hurt yourself." Juro- Gumo extended her hand, the long and dangerous claws that had no definitive end as they glistened black from tip to palm where they faded to flesh once more, the unfurling motion reminded her that this woman was demon above all else, and the girl stumbled towards her and timidly set the large, spiked melon in the woman's hands, her hands pushing away the locks that fell in her eyes. The wicked woman made short work of the rind, her nails like blades against the rind, and she returned it cracked open like a coconut with a sigh, the girl bouncing and grunting excitedly.

Once it returned to her, her fingers delved into the mushed grouping of flesh in the fruit, and smashed it to her face, red juices like blood smearing over her full lips as she gorged herself on the fruit. The over powering smell of rotting flesh took her by surprise, and Maryse let her eyes dart to the summoned meal, wondering what could possibly have made such a dreadful stench.

Juro- Gumo watched silently, her hands clasping each other before her, as she closed her eyes, listening to the sound of her daughter devouring all she could. Maryse approached the slab of food, and selected a small loaf of bread, bringing it to her nose to inhale the earthy scent of whole-grains, wondering if perhaps it was poisoned. She leaned on the edge of the make- shift table, watching the two mistrustfully, refusing to turn her back on either. The young girl turned her bright, black eyes to her and her tiny fist held out a chunk of the fruits flesh.

She lost her appetite. The fruit smelled like death, and she couldn't understand how the girl would pick that to eat when perfectly good food presented itself. When she refused the food, the girl climbed onto her lap, plopping heavily down with her calves cradling the hard leather on her thighs, and smashed the fruit to her full lips and into her mouth with a sharp grunt, "Ah! AHHHHHH!"

The initial response was to reject the food as the fingers curled against her tongue, and her stomach surged angrily before the scent was replaced with the wondrous taste. It was the most unique thing she had ever eaten, though bitter around the end, it began sweet and creamy with the texture of a mango.

"She turned ten several months ago. You only come now to claim her?"

"Valentine said as much. I only recently came to know of her, but if she is ever to be a Shadow Hunter, she must be marked soon. We have a limited amount of time to pass this mark on to her."

"My child does not belong to you or your kind. She is mine and mine alone." The woman sat in one of the elegantly gilded chairs beside her dried- out victim, her legs crossing as she tilted her head into her open palm, pin straight hair falling over her thin shoulders. She watched with interest clear on her white face with her inked out eyes intent on her daughter's interactions, "She likes you. She does not share her food with any one. Well, she did with her mother, once, but that was after she was long dead. Poor thing had no idea what had happened when I came across her, she just kept shrieking, holding onto her dead mother."

Maryse found herself wondering what had happened to the Shadow- hunter parents that bore her into this world. They had been friends once, well sort-of. They had shared the same ideals, followed Valentine to his assumed position before they had fled, and Maryse had heard nothing from or of them after their betrayal, had no idea that a child had been born. A wicked smile spread over the monster's lips as she turned, eyes dark gleaming as she announced, "She ate them. I thought you ought to know. That was the last human that she has seen, the last man she has devoured. I wonder, if perhaps that's why she brought you to me."

The chill returned full force as the small girl wrapped her arm around the armored woman's waist; her head resting over her heart as her other hand pulled the pulp from the fruit and force fed another piece to her before munching happily on a hunk herself, the juice smacking on her lips.

"You might try your hand with her." The woman drawled darkly, "I will not make such a decision for my daughter. Though she is no longer one of your kind, I will not take that option away from her. Good luck, on your venture, little Nephilim. You are going to need it."

Turning to where the woman sat, she was about to ask what she meant, only to notice that the woman had gone, leaving a black smoke dissipating on the wind where she had been.

_**XOX**_

Alec threw the book as far across the table as he dared, horror taking him deeply.

One of the many baby pictured of his sister that his mother kept on the mantle at their home in Alicante smiled back at him, his toddler arms wrapped around the small infant, presenting her as if she were a present.

Isabelle had been a present. It was the truth; she was the glue that kept their family together for as long as they had, but she was also the wedge that had thrown them apart too.

His sweet sister had been the crowning achievement to their parents; she was beloved from day one. She had been the one to catch her mother with Valentine, the one to naively tell what she had seen to their father and everyone else that would listen.

But now he had brought to light the meaning of what had been said that day.

"_**You've turned my own children against me. Made them like his."**_

"_**It's what we all must strive tomorrow; this is the future."**_

It made more sense now. Often times he saw something lurk behind his sister's dark gaze, like she was calculating a situation in an over- processed way he couldn't understand, and wondered where she had gotten such an unusual coloring any way. For generations, their family had the same blue eyes, and she was the first to bear black-brown, though they were rimmed with her mother's darker sapphire hue.

Skimming further, he caught other phrases of interest. '_**Heightened sexual tendencies…?'**_

_His sister was not a whore._

She wasn't, she had no comprehension yet of sex and as her brother, it enraged him that Valentine, who was practically a stranger would make such a blatantly mean statement. He knew nothing of Isabelle or what lay in her heart.

His hand ran violently over the page, over and over and over again until he couldn't feel the rage anymore. The offending book was covered by time he was done, scratching his script repetitiously over the page in red ink, and when he could fit no more, turned to the blue ink, and then black.

He would need to channel this rage into something before he did something he would later regret.

_**Isabelle was not a whore**__**.**_

With disgust, he slammed the cover shut, and stormed back the office to abandon the offending journal in the once- again empty room before going to go find Jonathan to practice.

He needed to kill something now, and beating the shit out of Valentine's son would do him well.

_**XOX**_

Turning, Maryse held her hand outward, asking for the girl's hand once more. She turned to glare, not trusting the kid anymore, and demanded obedience. She would have floored her children if they acted the way she did.

It had been days now and she had made no leeway with the girl. She could not take her with her, nor could she leave her be. She had been ordered to make her one of their people, and report the changes.

The girl was making it difficult, however. She was content to run a muck like a wild- child.

Maryse was tired of chasing after her too. She wanted this to be done with. She had half a mind to just take the girl home with her and figure out how to force her mark on her later in the safety of Idris where the spider- woman would not hope to follow them.

Somehow she knew that that was not a choice she had. She doubted that Juro- Gumo would let the child go. This was her daughter, she had convinced herself of such, and Maryse knew no force on earth would take either Alec or Isabelle from her, so why would the spider monster be any different?

No she would have to figure something else out.

"Give me the picture, child." Her voice was wrought with strife, but the curious child held fast to the picture frame, drinking in the people in the portrait she had left safely behind in Alicante. When she looked at the older female, she could see faint fear in her eyes, as she wrenched the precious object away from her.

"Okaa- dare desu kaaaa?" her dainty hand twisted against the frame as she lost a hold of it to Maryse's stronger grip, and her pudgy finger pressed questioningly to the boy and girl smiling like twins beside each other. They looked much like her.

"They are my children. They are very dear to me." Her eyes were distant

"Chi-eld?" Her sweet voice chirped, and Maryse looked to the black-eyed girl, saw how innocently she tilted her head as she tested out the word, pointing to her chest.

"Yes, I suppose you are one of my children too, now."

A sweet smile spread over her lips, and Maryse tried to remember that despite everything, this girl was simply another mission, and she had the same evil blood that was in Jonathan.

She fell to the ground with another glance to the photograph, and began drawing dreamily in the dirt, a happy play of stick figures dancing about that the woman could recognize was a fantastical idea of the girl playing with other children.

_**My children. **_The thought had tightened her heart painfully, _**she desires companionship.**_

But her innocence made it so easy to forget, to forgive her wicked nature and love her. It made Maryse wonder, offhandedly, if Jonathan perhaps was made wicked by his father, and not nature as he claimed. It was a thought for another day, when she was far from here, returned to her daughter and son. Somehow, she couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right now, however.

Yes, she would have to expedite this mission soon. She was finding herself empathetic to this demon- child. It would only lead to her undoing.

_**XOX**_

Days melded into almost two weeks of being left alone as the girl's sole parental figure now and Maryse had nothing to show for it and no sign of the monster's return. That wasn't precisely true; she was gaining the girl's affections. She had those.

Maryse doubted that given enough time, she would have the girl following her home to Alicante and the world beyond, desperate not to be left behind by the woman. Given time, she would have allowed it; hell, she was getting close to just taking her anyway and accepting the consequences later when everything was all said and done; she thought it was heartless to leave such a young girl among beasts and monsters that meant to do her harm.

But Maryse was one, too, wasn't she? True she was here on another beings order, but she desired to act against the girl's wishes too.

Brushing the girl's stringy hair from her face, her heart went out to her. In their country she would have been loved for her warrior strength, her cunning in battle, but here it was daily struggle that toned her. With time, she would be a great asset to the Nephilim.

She had to steel herself and act on her decision to force this on her. She couldn't return home without following the orders given to her by Valentine, and couldn't wait much longer either. Soon, her children would miss her. She was being inattentive again to their needs in place of the wants of the man she desired. Maryse did not want to lose her children, not to anyone, not even their father, and that was a likely enough situation should Robert learn that they had been left alone for almost two years after Jocelyn had been taken. This mission must be expedited, even if she betrayed her own morals and promises by the actions she must take.

The stele was pressed softly against the back of the girl's right hand and she screamed awake in pain, thrashing about. Her hand caught Maryse in the face, drawing blood. If the elder woman hadn't had a good insight to what was about to happen, she would have lost her eye. As it were, she barely just saved herself, her agility what separated them at the last moment.

When she finished, she let the girl go, and the small child flew over the table, clutching her injured arm against her chest.

She stared, wide- eyed and betrayed. She would not forgive, and she would not forget.

The pain was agonizing her. Maryse could see as much, but as she approached to offer aid, the girl viciously snarled, disappearing out the tower window to somewhere safe and far off from the Shadow- hunter that betrayed her.

Those black eyes would haunt her for all her days.

_**How could you?**_ They said blatantly as the wind caressed her hair, pulling her piece by piece from the window like a leaf pile scattering on the breeze_**, I trusted you… loved you… You hurt me.**_

But that was fine for her to hate her, because no one despised Maryse more than herself.

_**XOX**_

To everyone's surprise, Alec had taken up his bow and misfired, repeatedly in practice training. He was an expert at the long bow, anything but perfection was expected of him, which is why he was no longer allowed to pick up that particular weapon during class.

The repeated failure had Granville Fairchild yelling at him to put it down already and pick up a sword like the other two boys, who watched him with stricken horror. Was it really that possible to become that dreadful overnight? Well as the old saying went, _**Use it or lose it…**_

It had them scrambling to pick up their blades to see if they had lost any of their own strength.

There came a half winded shout again and Alec ignored it. He could feel the fire in Jonathan's gaze, knew there to be stricken confusion across Jace's soft and understanding face, but still he couldn't bring himself to care. He notched his bow again with a quilled arrow and his torso took form as if he would shoot down an enemy. He struggled again to pull the shaft back any further.

He wanted a heart he could pierce, someone he could hurt bad enough that would punish Valentine for stealing his sister from him before he could ever know her. He wanted vengeance for simply knowing what that damned book claimed.

Alec knew he should wait to ask his mother for the truth when she returned from her trip before passing such blind judgment, but he couldn't help it.

They would discuss this, he knew they would but he didn't know how to put his emotions on hold. He wasn't Isa-

His heart tightened viciously at the thought of his sister. The book explained so much about her he had never questioned, only accepted as the quirks that made her who she was. Was that truly her, or the faerie blood coursing through her veins?

With a sharp cry he forced his arms back and the resistance in the string gave his fingers no choice but let go, the pain in his fingers too strong to hold on, and let the arrow fly a few feet further than the last, but still in that blasted downward arch.

Tears threatened to fall and their victory had him more bothered than the likely whooping he would receive when Fairchild caught him. He was weak and they all saw it.

He wouldn't let that be the last impression they had of him, however. His hands loaded the weapon again, staring thoughtfully to the distance. Finally prepared, he was ready until a strong foot kicked his out, widening his stance against his will.

Turning, the blue eyed boy glared at the person he thought least likely to oppose him as the nimble, moist hands took hold of his elbows gently. Brown eyes stared defiantly at his and Alec had half a mind to put the kid in his place. How dare he manhandle him. How... Why was he smiling?

Simon smirked and nodded to the boy's now shoulder width stance, and somehow Alec got the gesture and flexed his legs, recognizing the familiar pull of safety in the balancing position, "Again. Try again."

With another look of distrust, Alec turned and took poise. Simon's hands took hold of him, twisting his arms just so as the other boy drew the arrow back to his ear, helping him twist his wrists in a fluid motion far further than he had managed before. This time when it flew it was sky bound in its curve and fell just shy of the tree fifty feet off. That he had been using as a target. It was all Alec this time, with Simon's guiding hands showing him the way.

Turning, he caught sight of the awkwardness that ebbed around Simon's eyes as he looked at him, fiddling with the useless glasses that Clary had dug up for him. "That should help you. Next time remember to twist your wrist more and keep your legs apart. It gives you a better stance."

He pulled away just as Jonathan wrenched the human- born Shadow-hunter away by the back of his shirt, his expression furious. The boy twisted and bolted away, screaming for help before the Morgenstern boy had a chance to pummel him into the ground.

"You alright?" Jonathan asked broodily, his chest heaving slightly with every hard intake of air, his wicked eyes drinking him in. Alec knew he was looking for any damage done that would allow him to do what he couldn't now- punish the boy, make him bleed.

Alec shifted his weight and the blonde boy looked immediately to the foot that had been kicked away from him, expecting some injury, any defect that would grant him abolition from the tight leash he kept his wrath on. "I'm fine Jonathan."

The dark eyes settled on his, and Alec noticed for not the first time that the depths were endlessly deep, like he could fall into them forever. They tightened ever so slightly, his thick brows furrowing before the boy crossed the distance that had been drawn between them for the first time since he beat Clary to unconsciousness when they were kids. The arms were bands of thin, strong muscle, and they clamped tightly over the boys back an shoulders, giving him no escape. An emotional rasp radiated through him as Jonathan breathed out, "Thank the Angel you're alright."

Timidly, Alec too raised his bony hands to embrace the boy holding him, as the sense of overwhelming dread passed through him. It was the same despair that overtook him in Valentine's office, but this was tangible, stronger almost, like a vaccine in comparison to the full effect of the virus. This was threatening him personally somehow, though this was the gentlest and kindest his would-be partner had ever been with him.

Drawing back, Jonathan clamped his hand over the boy's chin, before drawing away, "Don't let the urchin touch you again. I won't be responsible if he hurts what is mine."

The threat was clear as well as the claim. Alec could only nod as he cast his eyes downward to his feet, listening to the rustle of the grass as Jonathan walked away to rejoin Jace and his grandfather.

Somehow, he felt the most natural he had ever felt holding the bow his father had gifted to him. He wondered how a Mundane might have come across this knowledge, and he looked to the boy who still ran down the hill towards his sister and Clary.

Simon picked up a small bow with an apology, an unbeknownst to the two girls, bumbled intelligently with the wooden arch. Clary mothered him, correcting his arms, and Simon watched her over his shoulder.

In surprise, he turned from the younger children, knowing now that he had overlooked a simple fact now, just as his sister had.

The boy had been a warrior in his old life, a hunter perhaps. That made him smile as he returned to the others, picking up a rustic blade in place of his beloved bow and quiver.

He might just have to learn a thing or two from the Mundie. He would have to thank him later, when the others weren't around to hear.

_**XOX**_

"She was happy to take her first marks." Maryse found herself announcing as soon as the Lady covered in web waltzed in, her claws almost threatening vengeance for her misdeeds.

She tried to keep her voice as level as she possibly could, but failed at the end, her voice quaking,

The woman bristled visibly, her shoulders taughtly stiff even from behind. "Was she, now?"

"Yoouuu~ aarre ~ lyyyyyyiiiing~…." Her voice was strangely sing- song and filled the room on the wind. Maryse realized with a shudder of fear, that she had lost sight of her and had no idea where she had gone, but knew she wasn't so far off not to be a threat.

She looked around the room to find the few things of her daughter's missing, the satchel of the Shadow- hunter missing as well, probably not far off. She must have planned to run off as soon as she forced her child to bear her first marks, to take her as far as she could carry her and hope that the Demon Mother could not follow her where she went. Her vicious smile turned to a snarl as her nose flared, "You dare to take my daughter from me?"

"You can keep your demon- child whore I-"

"Her name is Aline Penhallow!" the woman hissed, her jaw snapping as bared her sharp rows of fangs, just as her eyes ripped open, vicious serpents streaming out to snap at her. Her hand upturned the slab that separated them, and rounded on the Nephilim, "Do not dare call her anything less than what she is worthy of!"

Maryse threw herself out of harm's way and into the path to the door, knowing the Nihon monster was hot on her tail. She stumbled despite her sure-footed and equilibrium runes, and vaulted herself up weakly to her feet again. Still the woman chased, furious in her wrath and the dark-haired woman chanced another glance back to the snakes that whipped about from her torn- open eyes, blood pouring down her pale cheeks.

"No one wants my sweet, misunderstood daughter. Her own kind won't have her, have never understood her, but my blood runs through her veins, and I alone know her true heart. You will never have her amongst your own!"

Maryse again tripped over her own feet as she flew down the stairs, falling into webs in her escape. She ducked in and out of the many rooms, slipping out windows and down the walls as she came to a wall of webs and millions of tiny spiders that all seemed to sing with their mistress's unease.

"Oh~ Naïve, little serpent in my garden~!" the dark woman's voice lulled musically in sing song, making the blue-eyed woman give pause on the wall. She pressed as closely as she could, hoping not to be seen as she looked upward to the window of the turret to where the wicked woman had sat down on the sill, and swirled a large goblet idly in her hand as she considered the Nephilim woman through half-hooded blind eyes. Her down turned face told the Lightwood woman that she knew exactly where she was, but was letting her go, and she brought the glass to her lips with a smile before calling out, "You ought to know you narrowly escape the lair of the Great Demon Lilith. Go home to your babies, little Nephilim, and know the meaning of my generosity. "

The rigidity in the woman's frame gave Lilith great joy, and her pleasure paid the price enough that she would let the woman go despite the slight against the child. "So now you understand the threat that I hold, and what I am known to do. Do not dare lie to me again, or else the safety of your children will come into question. That goes for that bastard that you carry as well. You will find that this is the most merciful as I have ever been."

With that, she fled downward as she shook with the knowledge that she was very narrowly escaping this place, her steps in tempo with the musical laugh that seized the keep, a disastrous sound that shook her inside and out.

When she got home, she and Valentine were going to have to have a heart to heart.

_**XOX**_

Aline crawled back up the tower wall. She hadn't been gone long, just far enough to realize that she had left the delicate woman unguarded in a centralized war zone, and that her infernal mother had returned, wrathful.

She watched as spiders rushed in countless numbers to the tower keep, up the walls and across the floors. She had only one way back home with them in such a flustered rage, and that was along the tower wall.

Coming into the room, she looked to her demon- mother, whom held a goblet in her clawed hands and stood off by the stairs, watching her as she came over the window sill delicately. She expected Maryse to still be there, so she could make amends for hurting her. She was sure the woman hadn't intended to do such a thing.

_**Where is the blue- eyed woman? **_The question was clear; she didn't have to voice it. Maryse's bag was gone, but the thick furs she had slept on with her remained as well as a portrait she had cried over nightly of a gaggle of children, her children, Aline recalled.

"She left. Consider her remains presents."

Lilith watched with her pitch- hued eyes in curiosity as the girl moved to pick up the abandoned photograph, laying in the makeshift bed of furs as she curled in on herself.

_**When will she be back again?**_

"She won't be, child." Lilith tried to gently whisper, but the sound was still malicious. Aline twinged, her arms tightening around the frame, "No one loves you like I do, Aline. I will never leave you, not-"

Aline closed her eyes tightly, as tears threatened to spill. This woman had raised her, given her the world in this darkened world of death and decay. She was the Queen of the Damned, and that made her the princess, but now she knew the feeling of Light and Good and Love, and again she longed for her kin, the long dead and those that remained far from this forbidden land.

"Go." She demanded, her voice cracking. Lilith obeyed mutely. She could feel the pain rolling off of her, and knew she had made a big enough betrayal out of the woman's escape that she would never ask to leave, never trust another Nephilim again.

She would never lose her child. Aline was hers.

Closing her eyes, she drifted off in a smog of poisonous black smoke, her destination a hill top far across the world in a land long thought safe from monsters and demon kind alike, where she could watch her other child fondly as he grew well into the wicked man she had molded him to be, her evil drop amidst the so- called innocent and good. One day, he would make her proud in a way Aline never would.

The thought of to come days of darkness and agony and Nephilim cries made her smile fondly, as he played with his father's kind.

_**Soon…soo soooonnnn….. **_

She could have cackled with glee.

_**XOX**_

The child pulled herself up, smelling the pungent smell that she so favored and followed it down the stairs to the exposed parapet. On the wall outside of the keep, sat a china platter with a split durian, the crystal wand- like shaft that had burned her only hours ago stabbed through its flesh.

Mutely, she picked the plate up, looking about for the woman in question. She knew she was long gone, but desperately she looked even still. She would have forgiven her, surely Maryse knew that. She adored her that much.

Desperate because again she was alone. Alone again because she missed her Nephilim mother, and the woman that so reminded Aline of her and the way her arms had wrapped around hers at night.

Turning she returned to her tower, the durian shaking in her hand as she took it and the mass of soft furs back to corner where the corpse she kept in the corner. She intended to sleep there, at the feet of her mother's withered husk, the smell of death surrounding her, as she felt decay set itself deep in her bones, spiraling outward from the burn on her right hand

Timidly, she took up the stele and watched with mild interest as it glowed faintly, pressing it tentatively to her skin. The drag mark burned her, but less painfully than the first. The flesh turned from irritable red to black, the line doing nothing as she knew nothing to actually mark on herself, and she watched as it faded to nothingness. Desperately, she tried to remember what was on Maryse's body, and imitated one of the few she remembered the woman cutting into her own flesh, and suddenly she found she wasn't as tired anymore, only bone weary.

She longed for her Nephilim mothers to return, for the new comer to come back and the dead one to rise again so she wouldn't be so lonely.

But no one ever understood Aline Penhallow, not Maryse nor Jia, and perhaps not even Lilith. Her tiny hands took hold of the abandoned frame, and traced the children fondly with her finger.

_**What would it have been like**_, she wondered, _**to have grown up beside these people? **_Would she, could she have been truly happy there in their world? Would she have liked to know them and have made friends there like she refused to here? She didn't know. Aline didn't understand this sudden melancholy either, nor the draw to follow someone else away from here. She wanted to meet Maryse's children, all six of them, but especially the pale boy who distanced himself with a proud lift to his chin.

He seemed the outsider, the unloved one, and in severe pain. A stark mark on his shoulder half beneath his top was the same on her forearm, she noticedHe seemed to reflect how she always felt. Her eyes absorbed his hand, where the same mark on the back of her hand reflected itself, angrily rimmed with a burning red and black as his eyes. All the marks, in fact, were rimmed with the same red pink, just as hers were. But a girl with fiery hair held his hand, there to soothe his pain gently with a soft smile, her arm outstretched backward as she linked fingers with him.

The fondness in his dark eyes upset her. She was jealous over people she never met.

What was the world coming to?

That night, the girl spent the dark hours cutting the runes into her delicate flesh that she saw, testing her body's reactions to each as she felt them overtake her and took time to remember the ones that might be of use to her later.

One day he would look at her that way, she resolved. One day she would be worthy enough of him.

The thought kept her up all night alongside the energy rune and durian flesh as she desperately tried to catch up with the children she saw as light years away from her.

_**XOX**_

_**Author's note: I know I just threw a lot of mythical beasts all at you at once. Easiest way to explain is that Aline sits in the Hushan part of the Great Wall of China, which is closest to Korea. Korea and to the East are dominated by Japanese spirits and beasts, which are now beginning to encroach the North side of the wall. Land is important to them, since Asia has really no leader (like how the vampires in this story took the east coast of America and created an impenetrable citadel) it's been running wild and in reality Japan always has been in need of expansion, always had a ratio problem with people to land mass. There are only Shadow Hunters left, because of the viciousness of the beasts that roam, but there are small clusters of Shadow Hunters still living in certain parts of Asia, keeping the wards up, living with the creatures still despite the harshness of it. They tend to stay as fear to the west and south as they can.**_

_**They are the people that told Maryse all about the legends as she goes. Sort of a "Hey I heard this monster likes this area" heads up.**_

_**The Winston Comment from Alec going into the office was a joke from 1984 by George Orwell. Alec was ready for everything and anything to attack him there, and finds Jace's fear to be something to mock, because out of what he expected to actually happen, the least likely threat almost makes Jace wet himself.**_

_**I also subscribe to the idea that Lilith can and does change her appearances, and if a group of natives were to see a strange woman come and take a child and go live off in the woods, there would also be stories. Perhaps the woman was nefarious, and in this case its rather true, just not to the kid.**_

_**Durian is actually a real fruit, and yes it smells like decaying flesh to some people. Others describe it as putrid, or smelling like gasoline. It's pretty neat looking, go check it out.**_

_**PS. Ha-Ha is the formal way to call ones mother in Japanese. **_

_**Okaa- dare desu ka?- means "mother who are they?" in Japanese.**_

_**Kitsu and Kitsune are the same monster, and for all intents and purposes, it is of the same family as Lycanthrope, just a different strain of demon. I believe it might have been mentioned at Taki's, but just in case I wanted to clarify.**_

_**I'm a huge, huge fan of mythology, particularly of the Japanese variety, but I did some research into Chinese monsters as well. The lack of them is fairly startling. Japanese believe in pretty much ghosts or humanoid monsters so I went into my research expecting more. Chinese pretty much have squat. What they do believe in are magnificent beasts that are more animalistic and they do share a couple, like the idea of the black dog, and interestingly enough, the Kitsune or fox beast.**_

_**The more you know. **_

_**There you have it my dears, on the eve of my birthday. I tried to power- house through this to get it out to you all faster, otherwise my writing schedule would have taken me probably well into next week before I got another chapter out, which did not sit well with me. I apologize if anything is choppy. I went through it a few times, trying to smooth it out, but to no avail, at least that's how I saw it. Who knows if you behind the computer screens across the world will find the same issues I did.**_

_**I also have a special little treat for you all, to mark the occasion. For a few months I have hit a rough patch in my art. Not that I have no inspiration, but a serious lack of time has kept me from it. So I decided to make some Cover art for my favorite FF's. This one is my current obsession, and so I decided to commit to doing one for this one first. The artwork is mine. I drew it especially for this story, and I ask that no one steals it.**_

_**The dress that she's wearing makes its debut MUCH later in the story, and was going to be the flame dress from the second chapter, but the darkness doesn't give me much to work with and with such a short picture of her dress it wouldn't be recognizable. So I did the dress that will appear (and I say this so loosely I hope you all don't quote me on it) in roughly 10 chapters. I realized there's no fan art for all three of them. They are my favorite trio ever. The tattoos on the boys' biceps are indeed the runes carved into Valentine's office, and represent the blood they were each given.**_

_**Clary, for those of you that must know, would have had one on her hipbone, as I originally planned on placing it but for the PG audience, I put her in a conservative dress and just decided to forgo it entirely.**_

_**REVIEWER ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:**_

_**LAUREN V: I really appreciate your continued support. I still think that chapter 3 was my favorite to write. Truth be told**__**,**__** it is the other half to this chapter, which was originally going to go by this title. **_

_**Panda: I too adore Sebclace. I felt like it was a bit ridiculous since the love triangle was introduced in the actual books and yet I could find no official pairing title for it. I have dubbed it SebClaCe, hopefully everyone appreciated the effort. I am still in search of a good dark and twisted FF involving a subservient Clary and dominant Sebastian.**_

_**Inalim and my2guys: thanks for your support as well.**_

_**I love all of my readers. Thank you ever so much for reading. **_

_**Love it? Let me know**__**.**__** Share the Love.**_

_**Review, Favorite, Follow**_

_**Till next time**_

_**JA NE**_  
_**~TAO RI~**_


	5. These are the Things They Need

A premeasure warning: This chapter has some more sexual content right at the beginning than what there has been before. If you don't want to read this, please jump from after the lyrics to XOXXOX marked for your reading pleasure, by hitting CTRL+ F. From here on out, be warned. This is your first and last warning, loves. It's going to get a bit more frequent. I will offer a brief shortcut at the end of this chapter for those that skip, but I will not do this for future chapters.

_**Yo, sister  
You sure heard me.  
Singing in the rain for some love  
You took me unaware,  
Said things to make me care.  
Now the time is ripe and you're so good**_

_**Ask me what I like and I say**_

_**Don't stop swaying, baby,  
You soothe my soul and I stop searching  
When I get lost in the rhythm  
Everything stops hurting.  
Don't stop swaying, baby  
Take it slow and I keep yearning.**_

_**Hansel and Gretel  
Are holding hands deep in the forest  
They are lost, this is their own story  
The two have fallen in love  
And so after a long quietness amidst the **_

_**Creatures of the night, they begin to kiss  
Traveling like heat through each other's bodies  
They pass through centuries of insecurity  
And into a rhythm where they are not afraid**_

_**Mamma has led these children into the wild  
Unknown for reasons, known  
With father's help, of course  
They tried very hard to get back home**_

_**But of course, they could not  
And so they find themselves  
Through the darkness, through the sadness  
Making love, making peace, making music**_

_**They find themselves, through the chaos  
Making sense, this is what they want  
This is who they are  
These are the things they need**_

_**XOX**_

_**Quietly, the girl climbed into bed. The nightmare that had woken her had her shaking with fear and the terror that seized her was enough to keep her from sleep. The fire in her brother's room was cinders now, and the huddled mass indicated that he wasn't alone.**_

_**That didn't deter her. The worst thing he could ask her to do was sleep with the other boy.**_

_**The instant her weight settled against the mattress, the golden haired boy say upright, unprepared for the intrusion, his hair disheveled and puffy in a way that reminded her fondly of Simon every morning she woke him up by pounding on the door. She had thought growing up those boys simply woke up gorgeous, as Jonathan always woke up impeccable, with his hair pin straight locks it was hard for them to look untidy unless something got in them, even when he did have bed-head. Girls, however, had to work for their appearance; Isabelle was testimony enough to confirm the idea, as both girls spent well over an hour primping every morning. Jace groggily swiped at his eyes, measuring her up. Somehow his stare didn't bother her in the slightest, despite the way it lingered as it fell over her choice of attire, or rather lack of it, scorching her with the intensity.**_

_**A thin tank top and underwear was all that covered her tiny form, and the curves of her hips sharply cut out all the decency that it might have put on her thirteen year old body as they curled and made her hip bones prominent, exposing the rounded v below her exposed, developing abs as she shifted seductively upward. She looked delicious crawling over the quilt like that. From here, he could see straight down her-**_

_**With a groan, he fell back to the comfort of the covers and shifted over against Jonathan to make room for her. The other boy groaned, throwing his arm carelessly over Jace, thinking somewhere deep in his mind that his Jace only ever tried to escape and mistook the movement as him rolling away rather than closer.**_

_**He had to avoid her. Jonathan had forbidden him from seeing he, and he tried his best to respect his wishes with the exception of the few days she happened to appear here on her own whimsy to play the game she so expertly ran like a ringmaster, playing her brothers like a master puppeteer. He didn't want to let her go, not when she drew so close that he could smell the delicate cascade of ruby curls which held some of the tiny purple and white flowers that she had woven into her hair earlier this morning which had escaped her collection at the end of her birthday, but he knew that this would end dreadfully the moment that the pale brother behind him rose from his sound sleep and realized what they had been up to.**_

_**Mutely she shifted to press as closely as she could to him with her back running along the edge of the large mattress as Jace could only shift as far over as the other boy allowed, and Clary hooked her leg over his hip to keep from rolling out of bed, her thighs wide open as she wrapped her arm over her bared stomach between them, nuzzling closer yet still until their nether regions were flush and every breath swept over his face warmly. Jace could feel himself hardening as she unintentionally rubbed herself along his groin; hot and moist, it was like she was inviting him to fall, though the boy figured she was too innocent to even consider what she might be doing to him. Jonathan sighed as her knee rested over his thigh, and the hand that held Jace's waist slid looser between their stomachs to press his knuckles against the firming muscle, and slid to lock around a few of her fingers. It was as if the boy always knew her location, awake or lost to the world.**_

_**The golden eyed boy could have cried with frustration. He longed to touch her, to show her his affections. But Jonathan was the jealous sort and he made it quite clear that any and all attempts to withdraw from him would be now dealt with an iron fist, and any interference with Clary was assumed to be a double offense.**_

_**Clary's bright green eyes wandered over his face, half hooded as her lips parted in a soft exhale, the sight enthralling as she looked up at him. It was seductive in a way that he could no longer doubt her intentional movements; the overbearing evidence gave him a hard slap in the face. She was enjoying this, his wickedly delicious torture.**_

_**Jonathan had punished him a few weeks ago for simply letting his gaze wander too long when he had held the door open for her, and Jace had found himself bruised the next morning, stumbling with a slight limp that had Alec fairly hovering with worry. He could take care of himself, but the Lightwood boy watched with his bright blue eyes like that of a falcon, perched ready to fend off the next attack. The new habit made him surprisingly pleased.**_

_**He wondered, idly if this would get him outright killed. The idea of fooling around with Clary wasn't far from his mind, but their brother seemed particularly protective of both. Would he willingly destroy one to protect the other? Jace honestly didn't know the answer.**_

_**Soft, warm velvet pressed against his lips in the gentlest of caresses, her upturned nose knocking against his as her tongue darted into his surprised mouth, running the inside of the seam in victory. A muted gasp escaped his throat, and she seemed to take small victory in his loss of control, as her hands tugged his shirt open urgently.**_

"_**Jonathan-"**_

"_**He's asleep, isn't he?" she purred, her finger idly playing with a curl behind his ear, her thumb caressing the lobe gently as her eyelids lowered seductively. Her hand traveled downward, tugging the curl taught before it sprang out of her hand, brushing the fabric of his collar aside to draw idle pictures and marks on the exposed flesh of his clavicle and pectorals, her nail dragging lightly to leave lightly raised lines behind. "While the cat's away, the mice shall play…"**_

She didn't have to play the part,_** Jace thought as he watched her bat her eyes at him only raising to half mass as her lips set in a ruby red pout, **_he didn't have a hope of resisting her wishes, even if she came to him in a full parka that made her the size of a hippo…

"_**And when the cat comes back, then it's time for the genocide." Jace whispered, flushed as her mouth latched onto the length of his throat. She bit gently, a testing measure that reminded him of Jonathan, before she began lavishing the rest of his throat with affections. Her lips were comforting and rousing all at once, but her tongue… that brought him true paradise. The girl shifted, forcing him from his side onto his back. She ground her hips against his and the pressure almost made him black out as she pushed him back authoritatively.**_

_**It reminded him she was in control, she always was. It made him want her all the more.**_

"_**Too good then, Jace," Clary whispered against his throat, continuing her descent down his chest with her eyes focused on his face, reading his reaction. The hand that held Jonathan's twitched mildly as her brother responded to her pulse while still asleep as her legs spread open minutely, settling her weight fully down, and the thought of him waking up to join in her play had Jace's pulse jumping as her brother sighed out loud and turned onto his back, his face turning away from the couple. "Too, good, my darling, that you have another cat to defend you from the first."**_

_**Jace felt now that she spoke the truth. Stuck between the Morgenstern siblings, he was the prey and they definitely were the predators. **_

_**Perhaps he could fall to her whimsies without prosecution, just as he had for Jonathan. He prayed so.**_

_**Otherwise his demise would be imminent on the morrow.**_

_**XOX**_

Clary awoke, shaking mercilessly. Glancing to the window, she could see that dawn was hours off. She desired to go on next door to her brothers and beg either of them to hold her, to ease her. She didn't care about who did it, at this point she would have settled for Isabelle doing it, her arms were often the ones she ran to when her heart pounded like this, and they curled around one another with mutual love, not amorous love, but that of sisters when one of them were struggling to pick up their shattered heart. She and Alec hadn't come back to spend a single night since their mother returned from her last mission. Every morning, they still returned, exhausted from their home life, to collect the four children in the Morgenstern manor for training in the hills.

Perhaps she ought to take Isabelle up on the offer to meet the new addition to the Morgenstern clan. The thought was still a smack in the face. They shared a baby brother now, Clary reminded herself as bitterness ebbed into her heart. She was the one Isabelle had always cared for, and now the baby presented itself as a painful reminder that in no way was her once closest friend tied to her. She had replaced her, but not fully, with Simon, but she missed their late night comforts. She missed the only female company she kept.

She had doubled the amount of visits with Jonathan for that alone.

Her knees knocked together with the force of the nocturnal emission. Really, _**Jace? **_The boy obviously belonged to her brother, regardless of her feelings and desires for the boy, that fact was undeniable. She couldn't dream of Simon that way? The boy was so obviously smitten with her; he tripped all over himself to please her. It would be so easy to play the part, to let him put her pieces back together. But the reality of her dream had her realizing her attraction to her adopted brother, and the tightness in her stomach made her sick with herself. He was the only one she wanted.

She didn't even want Jonathan in the way she wanted Jace. It was like a man starving in the desert presented with a feast he could never reach. She couldn't do anything about it. She wouldn't, _**no couldn't, **_hurt Jonathan like that. She would stomach this ridiculous notion until it passed.

Trying to stand, she weakly fell back to her bed, her knees giving out on her, effectively grounding her. She could crawl, she supposed, if she really needed to get somewhere, but her full weight would not be supported, not until she dealt with the enthralling fantasy. She could shout, call out for someone to come help her as well, but the idea was less appetizing than the first. With her luck, it would be Jace that broke her door down to help her and she'd force him down and re-enact the tempting fantasy.

Falling backward with a groan, she stared at the ceiling, willing away her desire. She seemed damned to be hindered forever, Clary decided finally as the minutes ticked away, as her thoughts returned time and time again to the golden haired boy next door and the things she hoped he would and could do to her.

The thought of him in the throes of passion burned on the insides of her eyelids, and she could swear she could feel his hands rake down her sides.

With an objective noise, she fell to putting herself back together by tearing herself apart again, her mind on the beautiful, angelic creature that haunted her like a wraith, his name becoming the mantra that balmed her very soul.

_**XOX**_

A sharp cry jolted Jace awake. He struggled desperately to wrap his mind around what was happening. He was covered in sweat and out of breath, a warm, fuzzy feeling filling him to the brim and his vision blurry around the edges. Had it not been for his confusion, the boy would have been content to bask in the moment, but something seemed too wrong. One moment, he had been rubbing against Clary, driving her on with muted encouragement, his hands at her hips as he guided her where he needed her most, and in the next second he found himself abandoned beside Jonathan, a chill raising goose- flesh on his bare arms and thighs. Clary was nowhere in sight, yet he had _**heard**_ her, he swore he did, crying out in pleasure. The thought was enough to make him go hard again. Glancing down, he groaned deeply, the noise turning guttural as Jonathan's long hand slid down his wet abdomen and seized him. He suddenly realized that he must have had a wet dream, and the tantalizing friction brought him ready for more as the older boy pressed his lips against his ear, his breath hot on his chilled flesh.

The fact that the other boy was awake took longer than it should have taken to seize him. His eyes opened, darting to the smiling boy that loomed over him. That was not a good sign.

"Dreaming of me?" Jonathan whispered on his hair. The arm that had once gripped him around the waist, which had stroked him idly, rose up away to float between them and his hand was being inspected with undisguised scrutiny, and the elder boy looked down at him just as the golden orbs searched him out. The stare chilled him, daring him to deny anything as Jonathan brought his hand forward for inspection, wet with his evidence as he rubbed his long fingers together, and the thick liquid stretching as he split his digits apart. The black eyes pinned him coolly, dissecting him until he had no defense.

Jace floundered for a moment, and shook his head, knowing he would be punished either way. Instead, he accepted the maltreatment with dignity, and ducked his head down to tuck it underneath Jonathan's chin. Two strong arms supported him, steeling themselves as the youthful boy struggled to cuddle closer, keeping his distance as the blonde physically appealed to him, begging forgiveness that would not be his. Jonathan didn't doubt that the younger boy would use his body to gain his forgiveness if he let him nearer.

And if Jonathan let him closer, he wouldn't help but forgive him, convincing himself of his innocence.

"_**Who?"**_

The sound of his voice was abrasive, and Jace didn't stop himself from flinching, knowing the reaction was exactly what the Morgenstern boy wanted. He was glad that he was willing to be reasonable, and hadn't gone immediately to the torturous discipline he was known for. The strong hands tightened painfully in the fleshy meat of his thighs, and Jace could feel himself press against Jonathan's hardening length. If he thought it would save him from what would come, Jace would have gone down on him, but instead he wrapped his arms around his brother's back, forcing him to come closer still as his leg threw over his hip like Clary's had in the dream.

"I..I-I don't know…" he stuttered, the taste of the blatant lie bitter on his tongue. He knew very well that it hadn't been him, but his sister that evoked the emotional response from the boy, but he wanted to _**hear**_ it. "I didn't see their face…"

He could feel the razor- like edges of the boy's nails on his bare chest, the drag of them cutting through the wetness that pooled across his abdomen, to his nipple. The fingers swirled deliciously with pain, as he twisted the small nub, and Jace's lips fell open with a cry.

Jace knew he wasn't into boys, but somehow the boy evoked such powerful responses from him. He could say with true confidence that though he found many women _**attractive,**_ he was only_** attracted **_to Clary and Jonathan somehow. They alone stole his control, and he was gladly putty in their hands.

"Well, we'll have to give you something better to dream about for next time, wont we?" Jonathan smiled, pressing a rough kiss to his jawline as he continued the ministrations. "Next time you won't dare to forget that it is my hand that draws such responses from you."

_**XOXXOX**_

"Simon," the red head called, looking back over her shoulder. He seemed distant almost and the look in his eyes had her on edge when they were alone. He had begun to look at her like Jace had, a longing in the back of his eyes that seemed to fade out when he actually looked at her. The looks were very different, but she couldn't help but feel they were exactly the same in nature. She smiled at him as he looked up half dazed, pulling her hair over her shoulder with one hand, her nails tugging though the ruby locks, "Help me?"

The boy almost tripped over himself to get to her. He always had tried to be the best to her, small arguments aside. He always took care of her, even if it seemed at times that he was striking out against his keeper. She was glad to say he was her closest friend, even more so than Isabelle, regardless of the prodding and shoving that their parents had tried. Clary smiled as he awkwardly pulled the leather bodice back, and tugged the zipper up to the clasp at the top. The sensation of her gears pulling her taught made her gasp, and Simon jumped, pulling his hands away as if he had been the cause, and watched with wide eyes as she smoothed her hands over the new piece of attire fondly.

It had once belonged to her mother, and though the older woman never really wore it in Clary could smell the gentle perfume still embedded in it from hanging beside the other clothes that had been her favorites. Glancing to her reflection, the girl was pleased to see similarities between her and Jocelyn. She could only hope she would grow up to be half the beauty her mother was.

_**Had been.**_

The thought tightened her stomach in a way that she couldn't blame the corset for, a spiraling inward that made her nauseated. Her clawed hands tightened against the buckles on the facing, tempted to rip it off. Maybe this _**was**_ a mistake.

Clary looked amazingly strong to Simon. Every day, she rose before dawn, and most mornings came upon him with her banging on the door, already ready for the coming day. This morning had been different, and the air seemed wrought with tension. She seemed to him grown up overnight. The idea was absurd of course, but she seemed stronger now in the full gears that she normally forwent. But she was officially an adult today, and the girl seemed to be sold on the idea that she needed to appear in authority of her future.

Her face pulled out another small smile as she realized her astonishment turned to painful melancholy had upset him, and touched his hand, carelessly taking it in her tinier one and squeezing, "It's alright Si. It was just a bit tighter than I was expecting."

Looking at the girl, Simon would have to agree. The pants he had gotten used to, but the added layer that tightly wrapped her torso was starting to alter his ability to be gentlemanly. She was dressed like a warrior, despite the flowing mullet skirt that bustled behind her, and she was drenched in femininity.

Simon prayed he could make it through breakfast without letting his eyes wander. He didn't doubt in the least that her father's gift to her would drastically change from some pretty bauble to where his corpse would be buried and the other children of the house would see to it that his demise would be long and painful, and probably bloody.

All offenses against the would-be-queen were dealt with iron fists. He was the enemy after all, and she their princess.

_**XOX**_

Walking down the stairs, the girl held her hand over her stomach. She found that her lungs only took in half gasps of air, and she couldn't manage to do most of the things she normally had. The stairwell provided her with one of the many problems she faced in looking this good. No wonder her mother stopped wearing such ridiculous attire. "How in the hell do women walk let alone fight in this?"

"Practice makes perfect?" Simon offered hopefully, offering her his arm. She accepted graciously, leaning against his strength as she willed the leather to give. He wondered if enough prodding would lead her to wear them more often like Isabelle and her mother. The two raven- haired beauties seemed to worship the articles of armor, and Simon couldn't think of a single outfit the girl had worn that didn't have the sturdy bodices involved.

It made hating her impossible. Clary's best friend was the hottest woman he ever saw, but her blunt ignorance and inability to be civil with him had closed off any chance of him closing the distance.

"I swear Simon; I'll never wear this shit again if it doesn't start to let me breathe in the next five minutes."

She fanned herself as she leaned against the taller boy for support, feeling faint. Glancing down at her heaving breast, she wondered if perhaps she ought to have the boy loosen the top strings at the very least- her tiny breasts looked like they were about to pop out, and though the heart shape it gave her was desirable, the costs were just too high. She would have been just as happy in a sweetheart neckline or a scooping tank top.

"You have to admit, however," a voice drawled behind them, the tempo of another person's feet beating down the stairs to catch up with them alerting them only moments before the voice hit their ears of the other boy trying to reach them. Simon looked back to the pale boy who was only a few steps behind, with Jace following mutely and silently behind him at the top of the stairs, looking disheveled as always. Jonathan was well dressed as he always was, a long sleeved, deep violet shirt starkly cutting out his thin form, making him look paler than usual, and his short, choppy hair was styled to stand halfway off of his face, which gave him the appearance of the smug little bastard Simon knew he was, as the salacious look he cast over his sister racked down her backside, "It does make your ass look much better from here, little sister."

As she turned to look at him, her brother took her right arm to help her heroically down the staircase, tugging her effectively from Simon whom had stood on her left side, and Clary drew in front of him as he wrapped his left arm about her waist with his right hand supporting her right arm at the elbow. His eyes darted down appreciatively, taking in every sharp angle the corset had created as well as the gentle curve of her breast, nearly ready to pop out in the sweetheart arch of the top. "And from here it almost looks like you have a rack."

She slugged him playfully with the arm that had rested on Simon's, and Jonathan's hand tightened at her hip, letting her know he wasn't going to play today. He drew her in closer, and she let him kiss her temple lovingly, claiming her as his territory.

Simon couldn't help but glare at her brother. He always stole her away from everyone, so it wasn't like he wasn't used to it. No, what irked him is the way she allowed it, never giving a second guess to other people's feelings.

It was something he was trying to get used to, even if the though perturbed him deeply. He fell in line beside Jace as the siblings swayed down the stairs together, so the same yet startlingly different.

The brown- eyed boy supposed Jace was in a similar position, though he couldn't exactly understand what the boy was to either sibling. The three had a close camaraderie at the very least, but he never seemed bothered by the moments stolen from him by Jonathan or the lapses in judgment he saw in Clary as she rushed to her brother's side.

Idly he wondered as he followed silently, staring to the ceiling as he descended the stairs, if it were possible to learn something from the smug bastard, if he might eventually be able to know how to just let things like this go. Maybe he should just ask, before things went too far for Simon to reel them back to a happy medium.

Throwing his head back, he followed mutely, trying to portray his inner Jace Herondale.

God this was going to just kill him. He was already exhausted, and the day hadn't even yet begun.

_**XOX**_

Jace stared as he remembering how he had dreamed her lips would have felt pressing her open mouthed kisses over his chin, the warmth of her curves melding against his sharper angles, the way her thighs held him closed around his hips and he could feel her-

He choked on the rush of air he took in and she looked back to him with a small smile, making sure he was alright. She looked like an Amorous Goddess, batting away the affections of the men that rushed her from all sides, coyly batting her thick eyelashes at them. He could never be one of them, but he wasn't content with the stolen glances of desire either. She egged him on, desiring to see the fight begin. He could see it in her crystal green eyes.

She was surely going to be the death of him.

He forced himself to be the perfect example of someone at ease and in power of themselves, falling into stride behind the woman of his desires. He could feel the brown eyes of the human boy watching him, measuring him up. Glancing to Simon, he tried to manage a halfhearted smile. At least he wasn't the only one being tortured by this new addition to her morning attire.

The Mundie looked to be floundering, his eyes darting everywhere and anywhere in a mad attempt not to be caught in his longing glances that swept over her backside, slow and dangerous as they shifted along every ridge of her hourglass figure. Jace couldn't help but join him. She was always the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes on, and he prayed that she knew it.

A sound of appreciation escaped his throat and Simon whipped to look at him, unsure if it actually came from him or not. Looking down with a darting glance, Jace could have sworn heavily. He needed to learn how to keep things under wraps and in his pants. He had been doing so well too.

Clary was ever on his mind, despite everything he had tried to do to get her out. She tormented him nightly with visions of writhing flesh and heated cries, and daily the look of her glistening eyes haunted him with the thoughts of all the dark and twisted things he wished he could do with her, should the ever watchful gaze be lifted from his shoulders. A single glance at her fully clothed had him undone and at the edge of control.

Valentine met them at the bottom of the stairs. He cast a disapproving look at his daughter, and Jace found he couldn't blame him; he was in no doubt a torrent of worry the older she got. Clary had always bordered on disobedient, though her loving nature and the favored child position always got her skirted out of any real trouble, everyone could see she would be lining up the boys in no time, if this was how they all fawned over her now. Her father would have his hands full keeping them at bay, and she did him no favors dressing as her mother once had.

After all, Valentine knew how many men _**he**_ had to beat out to win the right to try for Jocelyn's heart. It wasn't like these things just happened, and just turning thirteen his young daughter was already lining up suitors. Perhaps a coming out party for Clary was a ridiculously old fashioned notion. After all, she was already out.

He could feel both father and son poised and ready to attack the moment he made any move towards Clary. It was maddening, being so close that he could smell her, could hear the happy tremble in her musical voice as she laughed with everything she had, but not allowed to reach out and touch what he desired so desperately, be involved with what made him happiest.

Her father pulled her reluctantly from Jonathan's supportive arm, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She pressed a soft kiss to his cheek, going to tip- toes to reach the tall man's face as she hugged him good morning. It was comfortingly familiar as this was a similar occurrence to every morning, though his hands stayed firmly over her shoulders, and as he led the birthday girl away, glowing with mirth and happiness, it was in a direction away from the dining room. Her face whipped back to call something, but none of them could have understood exactly what was said through the laughter. Father and daughter disappeared side by side down the hall, leaving the boys to do as they would with a hope that it would be involve the kitchen's mass attempt to please their masters.

No one moved, as they watched the two go, and Simon wondered if they were content to wait for their father to return before beginning breakfast. They only had an hour to eat and get down to the ravine, however, and Simon knew exactly how family meals worked here: grab and scarf it down or else you got nothing.

Leading the way into the dining room, Jonathan and Jace fell in line behind him, also aware of the house rules. The table within was already set and brimming with platters full of cut fruits and sweet rolls, strips of meat, a monstrous pile of fried potatoes beside eggs, and several large carafes of coffee and juice between. Two of the set seats already were made up with breakfast, though the occupants were missing currently.

Simon stepped inside, taking in the deepest of breaths as the warm smell absorbed deep into his very soul. He still couldn't say he was used to this massive food spread, but he had grown to love the sight of it every morning. His life before the Nephilim was very hard, and this was more food than he would probably have seen in a year.

In his content pause, the boy didn't see the attack coming, though Jace did the second he stepped inside.

"Happy birthday!" Isabelle launched herself at Simon, dragging him out of the doorway and against her chest with a bear hug, her lips coming to press against his cheek. She hesitated right as her mouth touched the soft stubble on his cheek, just as soon as she touched him really, and she realized exactly whom she had kissed and shoved him away, a look of morbid disgust coming to light her eyes as her hand came up to cover her tingling lips, "You're not Clary!"

Alec fell against the window where he had perched, cackling hysterically. Isabelle found nothing about it funny, and looked at him with a withered glare, leveling him back to neutral. It wasn't often that his little sister was mad at him, but when she was she went out of her way to be malicious.

_**Another faerie trait, **_Alec found himself thinking, as he fell from the windowsill to his feet,

As she moved her chair away from the table to sit across from Alec in the long of the table a seat down from beside the head, Simon pulled up beside her, his hand lingering on hers.

"What Munda-"

His lips crashed against hers, and the room responded in turn; Alec stood and almost upturned his chair, he couldn't get across the table fast enough, and a wrathful expression evolved across his face, a dark turn that Jace had never seen on his soft face; but Jace had known that look on Jonathan's, and looking to his brother, Jace could see a malevolent haze had settled over his fine features. He turned fully, and tried to put a halt to the advance Jonathan was sure to make.

"That's…" Isabelle stared wide eyed, her pulse jumping in her throat. The blue in her eyes had rose up and was strikingly bright as her eyes dilated. Simon's hand was gentle in her hair, and held her face a breath away from his, "That's how you kiss someone you like."

He looked smug for a moment, thinking he might have won her over before the fool got slammed in the face with a fist, effectively knocking him out. Jace couldn't have stopped it, but Jonathan respected the effort that he had put in. Jonathan looked positively vicious still. If he could control his desires and wants and needs, than damn it, so should the Mundane-borne. It was bad enough that the boy stole away his sister's attentions, but blatantly playing her heart was_** his job**_, and one he desperately wanted to avoid even himself. Isabelle looked at him with a slight flush, her lips parted and ruby red.

Her eyes locked on his for a moment, before her lips tugged gently at the corners.

A sharp gasp drew the brothers' attention and the pale boy yanked away from Jace's embrace, drawing around the table away from the evidence of his attack. He was content that no one would tattle here, not even his angel boy who was still shaking beside Isabelle.

"Why is the boy sleeping on the floor?" a deep voice called out, settling a sobering feeling around the room. The eyes of the innocent darted from him to his girl, neither willing to give an answer to what had occurred, and Valentine leveled his dark eyes on Alec, making him shift awkwardly under the intensity.

Valentine and Clary had returned from their venture, and the girl had pulled her hair up into a lovely comb which left her hair cascading down her back with a lovely loft to it that resembled a molten volcano, spewing upward waves of voluminous disaster that charred the hills of her shoulder blades. She rushed forward, throwing herself to her knees before Simon, shaking the boy ruthlessly, trying to get a response.

"A bit of an accident, My lord." Isabelle's voice came out lofty, as her head fell backward to look over her shoulder at last, her back still to the door, and one of the wickedest smiles Alec had ever seen spread over her thick lips, and a cold chill ran through him as his pale partner came up beside him, a hand lingering on his shoulder as Jonathan lowered into the chair, a tilt to his regal head that left his face angled to his father, but the intensity was pinned on Alec's sister. "My fault entirely, I assure you."

Valentine's gaze did not lift, as he dissected her for later. She seemed sure of her answer, and finally Valentine accepted it as truth enough for what he would receive, and took his seat at the head of the table with Jonathan to his left, and the empty seat to his right for Clary. "Come along, Clary. He'll wake eventually."

_**After all,**_ he consoled his unease, _**Faeries were unable to lie. Mislead yes, but outright lies were impossible, and it took decades to master the art. The girl must be speaking the truth.**_

_**No fae in the world, of Seelie or Unseelie blood, could ever lie. It went against their true nature; brethren to Nephilim and Downworlders alike.**_

The dark gazes and smiles across the table went unnoticed by the father figure, as he took a small note of the incident in a small notebook, but Alec saw all, even when his sister's gaze dropped coyly to the coffee she held in both hands and she ran her foot along his leg to rest at his knee. Jonathan watched her too, and they basked in the shared lie.

_**XOX**_

"What would you like?" the voice drawled softly, as the boy forked his breakfast with disinterest. The eggs that had once been prettily laid over the fried potatoes by his parabatai in a loving presentation were viciously ripped apart now, the yolks long gone with the demise of his toast. He glanced up, and he could see Clary smile softly, glancing to Isabelle whom gave the sweet girl a knowing smile over the cup of coffee she had been nursing, a welcome change that always waited on a dainty saucer for her to the right of Clary on the mornings that Valentine insisted that his family eat breakfast together. She reached on her own, and gestured to a cinnamon roll as she selected it and brought it to her plate. She could almost hear Jonathan roll his eyes. The Lightwoods almost never ate breakfast there, but when they did, it was special occasions, and Alec and Isabelle went out of their way to make the siblings plates for them. In turn, Clary had set out a cup of coffee for her sister in arms when she was not there to greet her, black in case the girl arrived too late so that Clary would down it before running out the door. "You know_**, for your birthday**_, Clary."

The girl sat back and tucked her hair behind her ear. Truth be told, the day which was rapidly coming had her terrified. Her thirteenth birthday had come upon them without incident, and though she had insisted she wanted nothing for the marking of her growth, her brother had insisted. She supposed it was his way to take care of her, but she already had everything she could ever want or need, dresses beyond measure for any occasion, and enough gears to last her from now until she was buried. The only thing he could possibly give her she wouldn't ask for, because it would steal from her dear brother and Jace.

The golden- haired boy had lost so much in his life that Clary felt regretful asking for more affection from her older brother knowing Jonathan would certainly end up throwing the other boy out for her because the possibility that she felt neglected would be too much for him to handle. She also couldn't ask her brother to relinquish the younger boy into her stead either; she saw how much Jonathan now relied on the boy to satiate the insanity that lurked within him. She would have to skirt the answer again.

Hopefully she could come up with something, anything that she could give him honestly as an answer.

"Oh come off it, Jonathan," Isabelle came to her defense. She could always hope for the dark-eyed beauty to help her out of a jam. "You have two weeks to actually get her something before the party and by them I'm sure you'll have pulled a massive bulk of gifts for her, burned them in front of the orphans and gotten her better ones."

Shock overtook the entire table. Jonathan's eyes widened comically before he joined her smile, laughing at the idea or perhaps the ease of how she actual called him out accurately on what he would want to do and Clary turned to glare at her. Maybe she wasn't the help the redhead had thought.

A few seconds later, the tension was cut when Alec jumped out of his seat, glaring down at his sister as he slammed his fist against the table, "Damn it Izzy, that's _**my**_ thigh!"

The girl seemed mildly confused as her brother stormed from the room, a fury that didn't let up as he passed the door, or down the hall where he slammed the front door. "Was it?"

Isabelle looked to Jonathan for the answer and realized to her embarrassment that it was true.

A soft grumble escaped the boy from the boy still on the floor, a low plaintive noise that sounded mildly like a mmm hmmm, though no one really could hear him over the sound of Isabelle kicking the chair against him, as she followed her brother out of the room, looking to make amends.

_**XOX**_

The day had gone rather uneventful after breakfast. Clary had insisted that Simon stay behind after he did rouse from unconsciousness, claiming he might be worse off than he appeared now. Jonathan was thankful too, because if he caught the boy looking either of his sisters up like that again he would most definitely be headed towards six feet under.

Though not of blood, the girl understood him on a base, animalistic level. It was more than he could say about Clary, but both girls had started making their feminine appeal to them. Once, he wondered if Isabelle Lightwood would be opposed to marriage, if not for attraction, but because of their mutual understanding of each other on the basest of levels.

Now he knew there was another bred like him, a monster in the skin of an angel. It put a damper on any wedding plans that might have been once had. After all, the half demon couldn't possibly understand him as well as one that shared the exact same blood could it?

Watching his sister all day had been ruthless. Even now, the girls flaunted their purity to him, as they swayed to the gentle music of Jace running his hands over the piano their mother had taught them at. Jonathan had been uninterested, and Clary just did not do well at it and had abandoned it early on, but the other child that Jocelyn distanced her heart from had learned from afar, and mastered the art.

It so happened that she had managed to sweet talk him into playing again. It had taken hours of tuning from the disuse, and because of the lengthy preparation, Clary had conceded with only a few songs being gift enough.

"Dance with me?" Jonathan inquired softly, offering her his hand mutely. It had been years since they had, and the girl was lovely today, so confident in her skin that he felt like he spoke to a Goddess, not his sister, that perhaps this was the heavenliest side of his baby sister that he had ever met.

She looked back at him and smiled, nodding. Clary took his hand, and turned in his arms, her eyes fixed on the hand that held hers. Her fingers deftly rotated the ring on his hand, an affectionate look on her soft face as she gazed at the ring caste from their ancestral family's mold, the exact ring that had adorned every man of the Morgenstern clan's hand since the idea had come along to mark who belonged to the noble family. They gently swayed together, a mute waltz that pressed them close enough to feel the other's heartbeat.

Glancing up at her elder brother, Clary waved off his look of curiosity. She was happy to be held, to be loved in this quiet moment.

Amber gold eyes watched from behind the piano stand, distantly longing to swap places with his brother, to steal the girl away that so affectionately fell into his arms every time, blindly taking the leap knowing he would always be there to catch her. He wondered what god had thought when making him, if perhaps this was meant to be some sick joke or perhaps a way to make him stronger willed, better able to defend the family he was sworn to protect. Would Clary ever fall into him? The thought seemed blasphemous. Standing, he shut the piano cover as silently as he could, hoping not to disturb his siblings.

Neither of the Morgensterns seemed to notice that the piano had suddenly stopped playing, and that Jace had left them. They were always too lost in their own world to notice anything.

_**XOX**_

Jonathan's fingers worked faster than hers did, slipping beneath the buckles and working the line loose from her under bust to lower belly as her fingers struggled with the first one, his face resting on her shoulder as he softly kissed up her neck from behind.

She could curse his ability to undress her faster than she could manage, and the corset fell to the floor where she would leave it, abandoned for good, when he yanked it off of her shoulders roughly.

Her lungs filled painfully, grateful for at last receiving oxygen that swelled her breast. The air escaped her just as quickly with a cry as Jonathan racked his nails against her clavicle bone, drawing blood. It stained her pale skin bright red, dripping languidly down her breast.

He had been too hasty. Apologetically, he curled the girl against him as he kissed away the pain, his tongue darting out to clean up the mess he had made. Iratzes would come later to remove the dark evidence he left when he was done stealing her innocent essence from her, saving her from the painful reminder that scars would bring her, recalling later how she had let him do so much to her.

It was the least he could do for defiling her.

_**XOX**_

Clary woke groggily in the early hours of morning, her brother close enough that she could hear his heart steadily beating. He sat up on his side, his elbow bent so that his face lay in his open palm, gazing down at her lovingly.

She blinked away the sleep dust in her eyes, and went to rub her lids when he felt something cool rub her temple and quickly let her hand fall away for inspection.

There on her middle finger sat a silver ring, a feminine and obviously expensive signet ring with their family's crest surrounded by elegant scroll work which made the falling stars appear to be burning away in their descent.

"What do you think of your gift?"

Her hand began to shake. The reason young girls and women never kept family rings was because their lives of being unmarried and belonging to their own kin was strikingly short. Why invest in what you would not belong to in only a few short years?

It was a sign that you did not intend on leaving your family. True, the Morgenstern family was a good enough family to want to remain in it, but Clary had dreams of marrying, of young children she could care for and love and nurture. And true too, was it that one day in her not so distant past she had claimed that she would one day wed her brother. The thought made her dizzy, and she found herself withdrawing, pulling out of bed.

This was suddenly too much too fast. She couldn't breathe and the room had begun to spin drastically. She couldn't stay here, not with him looking at her that way.

She fled.

_**XOX**_

Jonathan did nothing as she ran from him, watching her as she stumbled desperately towards the door. Something in him begged for him to follow her, to make sure she didn't fall down a flight of stairs or something equally devastating. But her clear eyes made him pause, and give up on the idea of following her entirely; she was terrified, like wounded prey backed into corner.

And he was her predator and tormentor. Drawing his legs back to his chest, he wrapped his arms around his knees, tucking his head against the pillow they formed before he began crying.

It started softly, and grew in hysteria and volume, until he had drawn an audience from the staff. They pressed their ugly faces in on him like a crowd might at the aquarium, desperate to see the great shark terror.

A small voice tried to drag them away. Jonathan damned that small voice. It begged them to go, to leave him be. He didn't need to be left alone, he just needed to stop feeling.

Finally she pressed them all away, slamming the open door closed. Looking up, he saw how her shoulders slumped inward as her small fists pressed the wood slab shut tight. She shook slightly, the small tremor almost unnoticeable in such a tall girl, but it was there.

And in her voice it multiplied. "What have you done to Clary?"

When she turned to glare at him, he noticed that her eyes were pure blue, just like Alec's, and the wrathful nature she had taken on was like a typhoon, running over her flesh deliciously. She stormed up to him, backhanding him across the face hard enough to stop the pity- party he was currently rejoicing in.

Perhaps Isabelle and he weren't as close as he had thought. He had thought that she was at least smarter than the general riff- raff.

She withered as he rose up, running his hand along the sharp line of her jaw. Grasping her neck, he dragged her forward, pressing his lips urgently to hers. Isabelle melted with a sigh, as his tongue darted past her lips, forcing her to kiss him.

If she didn't know better, then he would make sure she would soon.

_**XOX**_

Jonathan had abandoned Isabelle in his room. The girl still breathed, but that was as much as she ought to hope for after she raised her voice to him, struck him. She would be sore when she did finally rouse from her sleep, but the viciously delicious distraction had him hungry for a different type of desire. He felt wickedness creeping in on him, tingling like a numb, dead weight through his muscles.

He sought Jace out, for once in his room. He would be enough; he would give him enough sanity again. Jonathan started to repeat these things over and over, praying that it would be true. Isabelle had brought him to almost the brink, stoking the fire with her passion and disobedience.

Knocking on the door, he could hear the carefree and light voices within. Butting the slab open without waiting for the responding answer, he saw the golden haired boy sitting against the man and between his legs of the boy that would be his Parabatai, a book spread out before them, as Alec pointed things out of interest. It was a destination book from the looks of it.

From the sounds of it, they appeared to have a plan to leave the manor, whether it be on a mission, or of their own devices, he wasn't sure. Looking up at him, he felt the tension go through Jace's slighter form.

So the blonde knew he was in trouble. Good. It made what was going to happen much easier. Turning, he stormed out. He didn't want to be there almost as much as they wanted him there. He was obviously unwanted. He could hear them, scrambling out of the bed.

Alec was faster to reach him, and the hand that caught his arm was warm.

Turning, Jonathan grabbed the dark locks and slammed Alec by the hair against the wall. The hit startled him, and he gave a sharp cry as Jonathan reeled backward and swung with all of his strength. The hit struck the older boy hard, knocking him back into the wall where his head cracked against the wallpaper with a muted noise, denting the porous material beneath.

The boy had been getting dangerously too close to Jace for his liking. They were growing too fond of each other and someone had to take his would be partner down a peg or two before he snapped and killed him. It took everything in him not to just pop Alec's head off now; even in this attack, the blue eyed boy looked to Jace, making sure the other boy was out of harm's way.

That was his job, not Alec Lightwood's. His hand around the slighter man's throat tightened, and he prepared to pummel the softly sloping nose inward. That would teach him to take his eyes off of his opponent. He was not a friend where Jace was concerned, he was a villain.

Every day he tried to steal him further away from Jonathan and he had enough of it. How dare they make plans, plans to leave him behind. With or without his father's approval, he would not lose either of them. They were his as much as Clary was. Thank the Angel _**she**_ knew her place in life.

"Hey!" Jace cried, jumping between them. Alec tried to put himself back between them again, his slight form twisting as he grabbed hold of the fist that held him around the throat, and Jonathan's blood boiled. Jace, too, grabbed onto the offending arm, but he didn't dare try to remove the offending limb. Instead, he drew nearer, positioning himself between them.

Pressed against him, Jace grasped the older boy by the shoulders and shoved as hard as he could, following through with his body. He landed, molded against the paler boy, his leg between Jonathan's thighs with his knee anchoring them against the wall, and his lips crashing against the thin ones that stole from him nightly.

Shocked, Jonathan stared down at the golden eyes that seemed to barely hold back enough emotion, so at war with himself and everything else. He could feel the weight of him, the slight pressure in all of the right places, the way his hips curved against his to lock against each other as his abdomen tightening against his stomach in a rippling flex, and the attempt to keep all of the pressure off of him too, the wall giving way slightly beneath the hands that had folded around his head, caging his face.

"Don't go…" his voice came out as a broken whisper, rough on the edges as the pale haired boy rested his forehead against the strong shoulders of the angelic man. His flesh was warm, and Jonathan felt suddenly chilled as he clutched himself to the strength, willing himself to meld into one creature with the boy he violated.

"I'm here, Jonathan…" He hushed him gently, running his hand against the tuffs of white hair before brushing away a tear that fell silently, "No worries, I'm here now…"

It didn't escape the elder boy's notice that the feminine ring that once adorned his sister's hand now presented itself nobly on Jace's ring finger, and as the boy pet him fondly, soothing him, he watched as understanding dawned in the Lightwood boy's eyes as well, and he made himself scarce.

As long as he had one of them, he would be alright.

_**XOX**_

_**Author's note: **_

_**The chapter begins with a wet dream, where Jace is asleep in Jonathan's bed, and Clary comes in after a nightmare, as she has been having them almost nightly. Jace and Clary have the same dream, and while Jace wakes up, he finds Jonathan already awake, with evidence of what happened. He gets punished for infidelity, because that's simply how Jonathan runs this ship. Clary wakes up next door, shaken, as she realizes that this isn't just infatuation. He soothes her in a way no one else does.**_

_**So the general consensus I saw was that the chapters need to be shorter. Got it (XD) ; I had a similar feeling too, as it took me half a month to type that last one, and it seemed to be a pretty long chapter for what even I have read. A single chapter that's 32 pages typed seems to scare off potential readers. The bright side of shorter chapters is that I can give you them more often. So my new attempt is 10k as my goal, but we'll see what happens. I've found that I tend to overshoot my goals when I have the plot already tentatively set.**_

_**Song lyrics belong to Sophie B Hawkins: "Don't Stop Swaying." I really wanted it to go along to Clary dancing in the rain, but I felt like the scene I put in instead was far more satisfying.**_

_**I'd also like to clarify that Jace and Clary had the same dream. I tried to make this apparent by giving you after shots of them both, but someone, somewhere might have overlooked this.**_

_**At this point, I would also like to say that Jonathan, Clary and Jace have not had sex with anyone, and not with each other yet either. Jonathan has been basking in their angelic nature, stealing their blood and other such bodily fluids, which has angelic essence in them. This is what is keeping his demonic blood at bay. Sex with them would do the same, if not more, but the worst thing they've done is heavy petting.**_

_**That being said, Valentine doesn't know of his children's actions. If he did, he would definitely put an end to it. Clary is his pride and joy, and no good parent would allow their daughter to be used, Valentine included. He never wanted Clary to be part of the experiment in the first place, after all. She is his favored child, the diamond in his eye, and all of that. Personally, I am unsure of how he would feel on the Jace x Jonathan front, but I would assume that it would follow what we know of Shadow hunters already: it happens, but we don't acknowledge it. The fact that it might affect his experiments might also affect his opinion here, but I'm not sold on his support or opposition on the matter.**_

_**So to answer Inalim after that, Jace and Clary's reaction isn't sold to Aline because of what she is. Their relationships with Jonathan come from sibling love initially, as they've been raised beside him and see the struggle he's having. Jace is being coerced but does care for Jonathan, and Clary gives the affection freely because she loves her brother unconditionally. So on the front of them, Aline would get squat coming to Morgenstern Manor, and would probably find Jonathan viciously protective of them. I mean, he doesn't want to share Clary with Jace and vice versa, so why would he be willing to offer them up to the other creature of his species? The answer is he wouldn't. Valentine might test the angel blood injections on her, however, if greed is not a factor in his generosity. He would still choose himself over experimenting with her, I feel. As for Aline's feelings on the matter, she might have that hunger for them that Jonathan does, but she wouldn't be as responsible with them. An animal is an animal, after all, and raised wild, she only has some resemblance to a Nephilim child's personality. I don't think that going forward she will however, she's practically raised herself and hasn't any experience with another reality. She's found peace with herself, and whereas Jonathan has been almost shamed by his father for being what he is, Aline has reveled in being truly herself. She would have been happy just to have never received first marks, if it weren't for Maryse. What I can tell you definitely, however, is that she has built Jonathan up in her mind, to almost hero worship levels, and knows on a base level that he is like her, just as Clary felt Jace was like her when they met and they keep reaffirming themselves as they grow older.**_

_** Lauren: hopefully this satisfies a bit of the lack of Clace we had here. I have actually been writing a fantasy novel series since I was in 7**__**th**__** grade, which has gone through numerous revisions and edits. I'm still unsure if it will ever make it to publication, as I still feel like it could always be better, but maybe one day. It's already hit its 1000**__**th**__** page mark, which I'm sure is no surprise, because as you see from this story, I'm rather wordy. Its title is still tentatively New Eden, and follows a girl who died and the man that killed her on accident. For future reference, if you are to see the name Kotara (or her title Lady Future Kotara) or Silhouette (aka Sihl) Shade in a novel, it is mine. They are NOT the main characters, but they are characters I am sold on, and have never changed them in anyway, and have the backstory that has been the foundation for the rest of the series. Best way to look at it is they are the Tessa and Jem/Will of The Mortal Instruments.**_

_**Any who, if you liked it let me know, share the love.**_

_**I adore hearing from all of you.**_

_**Read, Review, Follow, Favorite**_

_**With Love**_

_**TAORI**_


	6. Tiny Words That Break Your Heart-B&E p1

The girl perked up, and Lilith watched with mournful eyes as she rose to up with a look of confusion on her serene face as she gently shut the book she had been trying to focus on, and the hanfu she wore slipped with a soft sound like water trickling away from her knees to grace the dirty floor. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of the other woman since she had threatened her nearly three years ago, nor had her daughter mentioned her. Aline had, however, mourned the loss of her dear Nephilim friend and all that the bitch represented. Lilith had watched as night after night, the young girl pulled out the picture that had been long forgotten therein their home and dreamily gazed at the children it held and marred her flesh daily with small marks meant for strength, agility, healing… they all left her abandoned in agony hours later with burned, ragged flesh that boiled over and pussed from the wounds if she didn't care for it immediately and properly enough but Aline wanted to be a good little Nephilm, just like her dear Maryse, just like her people. Jonathan did not have such problems, not like his sister- mate. He didn't feel compelled to look or act like the sheep he had assimilated into. He was a wolf, a predator, and he was content to simply be. He was growing into quite the little hellion warrior despite the pure blood running through his veins.

Aline carried now with her the old stele everywhere she went and she obsessed over imaginary relationships she would never be able to hold onto. Her own people would never accept her, nor the wicked blood that made her the beautifully vicious creature that she was, her little girl.

Lilith damned the Nephilim woman for having ever spouted these thoughts in her daughter's mind.

The reek of her flesh was the first sign that the woman had returned. Many days before, she had smelled her on the wind, crawling over the hills in the fastest of paths, taking her darting journey in the darkness of twilight when the beasts and monsters lurked for prey and she blended into the background like a chameleon, and continued well into the day when her pitch black gear gave away her position like a homing device to everything rabid that could smell her, but she made good time in crossing the distance. In less than two days she was in sight on the horizon, her ebony hair whipping like flame on the wind. She seemed to be in a hurry, and everything she did was to come faster.

The black eyed woman soon knew why. She crossed the plains on horseback, probably only after portaling to the last monument she remembered from her last journey here. Clever girl knew better than to just appear in her home uninvited and unannounced. The naïve bitch probably thought to take them by surprise, but Lilith knew all of this land, from every particle of dirt to the beasts that roamed. All were the children of her children, all her kin in her kingdom of hell on earth. Sitting on the sill, she trained her gaze on the advancing figure, as she finally reached the fortress at long last.

Just as she broke the entryway, Aline had darted to the opening, throwing herself against her. The force almost sent her back down the stairs again, but her arms wrapped around her tightly, her long fingers petting the girl's hair.

"Jonathan turns 13 in a few days." She just came out and spoke her business. Lilith was thankful for the lack of play this time. It gave her less opportunity to deceive as was in her nature, and she would not have liked the look her daughter would have taken on after she strung the woman up with her skinned and hanging with her blood insides turned outward like a gutted rabbit by her toes. The black eyed woman was not in the mood to play with her food, let alone the Nephilim bitch aiming to lead her Aline on. "I'd like it if he could meet you, Aline. You two are very much alike."

Wide eyed, the girl went to the corner of the room, her small body crumpling down as she neared her makeshift bed where the rubble had been shifted in a half circle against the wall and the deserted blankets and pillow roll that Maryse had left here the last time she had been sleeping in that spot remained, accompanying new blankets made of animal hides. Her photograph which had been forgotten here too, was left abandoned propped up against the brick exactly where she had last left it. Aline's tiny fingers wrapped gently around the frame and her eyes roved over the group as she approached again tentatively.

Holding out the frame with both hands as if it was the most revered of her possessions, she shuffled her feet as her gaze pinpointed on each of the people captured in the portrait, and when she finally returned, she lifted it up for the Nephilim woman's inspection, her dark eyes hopeful, "Who?"

A long finger roved over the air and settled against the page, indicating the boy she had fixated on for months now. The girl squealed excitedly and clutched the frame to her breast as a blooming smile spread over her thick lips, spinning on the ball of her toes.

She glowed in the brightest of lights Lilith had ever seen, like a star about to go Super Nova, and her smile could have ignited the most human of emotions within her mother. But history showed that stars always burned brightest before they burned out and this would be no different. With a heart-shattering tremor in her heart, the spider-like woman stood up from her regal seat, slamming her fist lightly on the table three times. The heads of the two women whipped to look at her wide- eyed.

"Absolutely not. Aline is not of your kind, she is of mine. If anything, the boy may come here to be with his own, but I will not allow my child, my young to wander into enemy territories unprotected."

"Haha, I-"

With the viciousness of a viper about to strike, Lilith stood as tall as she could, the height in her spine inhumanly long and her jaw clicked with the crunching noise of scissors snapping together as she ground her fangs in a snarl, "Absolutely not. You will go nowhere with this bitch."

Turning her wicked face to Maryse, the woman began to back away, knowing she already crossed the demon woman, "As you wish, my Lady. I apologize for the intrusion."

When they were left alone once more the silence dragged on, broken only by the small girl's hard breaths and Aline approached the tall woman timidly; she grasped her mother's dress at the thigh as she knelt before her in a begging position, and she pressed her face into the rough, gauzy fabric. Her small hands clenched in the thickness of the dress and her face came to press against the rift in the cloth she made, muffling her breath in the flesh of her legs. The demon woman looked down, disturbed slightly with a twinge of affection; they had long ago established a no touching rule that had spawned when the girl was old enough to walk on her own and the brief moments of tender moments after between them were limited due to her insensitivity and the girl's self- reliance.

"I'd like to meet this boy." The girl's soft voice spoke out, and Lilith saw in the girl a woman on the brink of great change, behind the dark eyes that made her stomach drop out as her daughter looked up at her with moistening eyes; it didn't matter what she said, Aline would leave her too soon, whether by death or her own kind taking her among them, it didn't matter much. She would lose her little girl, the creature she had longed for, for her entire existence, and she now was presented with few options. Lilith would be unable to keep her, she knew that from the beginning, but now as the child looked up at her with tears brimming in her eyes, she found that the maternal need to protect was defeating everything inside of her. Aline was destroying her and she was destroying her child. "_Haha_, I hear him, crying for me, he needs me as I need him…. You _**must let me go**_ and help him…"

Pulling away, Lilith turned back to her window, and sought out the little Shadow- hunter who distanced herself now, on her journey back home. She waited, hoping that the girl would follow. Maryse would not have her way, though. Aline would journey alone, or not at all. This was her great pilgrimage back to her own people, and it would not be shadowed by a woman meaning to use her to gain footing in a mad-man's ranks.

"I suppose it's settled then. Go and meet the man who gave you bone and flesh and the son he created you for." Lilith looked disappointed, but allowed the girl her whimsy. Turning fully now, she sat down on the windowsill once more and leaned out the archaically cut window frame, gazing down at the hundred foot plunge from the tower, feeling as if she ought to have tossed the blue-eyed bitch out when she first had the chance, or have devoured her, as first instinct had demanded. Perhaps then, none of this would be happening. "See if your Adam might take you and make you a queen in a kingdom that was not ever meant for you."

It didn't occur to her that the bitterness in her voice would not affect Aline. The girl had long grown used to the harshness of her rasp and the malevolence of her words.

Aline touched the woman's arm again, the feeling of the coolness of her touch making the demon woman jump slightly in alarm, and a knowing look passed between them. Her eyes said everything that she needed to, thankful and sorry at the same time, because she knew what it meant to follow this path. She would forever lose her childhood in doing this; she would not be allowed to return to the demon's side after she hurt her.

After a moment, the girl threw herself against her mother's waistline, her arms wrapping around her affectionately. With a mechanical motion, she raised her arms stiffly, and, after a few awkward moments her limbs closed around the girl like a ballerina's first position and the other set held her head in what looked like a threatening position, like she was about to crush the weak skull in her grasp, her claws twitching as she held her.

"_**Daisuki…okaasan…"**_

Maryse watched from a distance, knowing the path that the girl would probably take, and wondered if there was a dark, motherly affection that the demon woman felt for the girl.

The older woman had recognized that look after all, as it so resembled the consuming longing she felt every time she neared the man that had abused her daily, but had once showed her some small kindness in her darkest of hours. Either today or another, Aline would follow this path home. She was desperate enough to take action.

She just had no idea how soon that day would come.

With that she left, journeying back to the open rift she had left only days before.

She _**had**_ to learn how to open her own portals.

_**XOX**_

"Your just some spoiled stuck up rich kid, you always get your way" Simon spat, his eyes smoldering. His hands had tightened into taught fists and he could feel his pulse racing in his knuckles and fingertips as the pressure rose from the strength in his grasp cut his blood flow, "What would you know of being without?"

Simon was furious. He didn't have to always give up his best friend to her pompous ass of a brother. The most alone time they got these days was the walk from his room to breakfast, and all other time was divided between Jonathan and training. The girl swayed slightly, giving him a withering look meant to put an end to the fight. The brown eyed boy took no heed, gently pushing her aside and away from the melee that was sure to occur as he struck out at her viper of a brother. If he wasn't pleased to see his sister manhandled, he didn't voice it nor did his expression darken any further, but Clary gave out a plaintive cry and tried futilely to push herself back between them. Her stronger friend managed to keep her at bay a safe distance behind him without taking his eyes off of Jonathan, now threateningly looming right in his face.

The older boy reached out and dragged the girl out from behind him, slamming her into his bedroom with a rough shove as he yanked the door shut right behind her. No one told him no and got away with it. As the son of the master of the house, he was in charge. The sooner they all realized that the easier life would be for them.

The black eyes didn't waver in their intensity and Jonathan stared him up and down as if he could ex ray his insides and read everything inside of him, his hand holding the door handle firm as it rattled, a sure sign that Clary was trying to escape. His forearm jumped with the strain, and he bore down, keeping the door in the jam.

The older had turned his attention from the girl safely tucked away, the ever glowing sister that made his existence all the darker in comparison. His voice was coarse and grating when he addressed him at last, severing the tight rope of the human- born's nerves in one single strike, "Does she love you?

"Dammit Jonathan, let me OUT!" he could hear the small alto muffled by the wooden slab bellow out as she began pounding erratically on the surface, rattling it in its place. Jonathan didn't seem bothered, save for the arm that shook with the effort of locking her within, all of his aggressive attention pinpointed directly at the boy that had started this tiff.

Did Clary love him? His eyes darted momentarily to the door which hid her from him and back to the man that stood in the way with that smug look on his face. The question only served to rile and confuse him, but looking at his best friend's older brother, he could see reflections of Clary and despite every instinct saying otherwise, he knew that it was genuine. Jonathan really wanted to know the answer with every part of his being, more so than Simon, perhaps. His throat was dry, and as he opened his mouth to speak, his tongue darted out to sooth the cracking lip he'd worried raw in his silence, shaking his head instead when pain presented itself against the wet caress. The boy's gaze darkened beyond reason, and Simon realized that a nonverbal admission would be unacceptable. His voice cracked as overwhelming dread overcame him; he wasn't ready to admit it to himself let alone _**other **_people, "No. I don't think she does. At least not the way I love her."

"Does _**anyone**_ love you, Mundane?"

"Yes." Simon began after a long pause, his eyes downcast. He couldn't make head or tails of where the conversation was currently going, but again Jonathan urged him on silently, if not more threatening this time around; the elder boy seemed to wait patiently for his answer now but his long fingers rested against his family's ancestral blade, Heosphorus, and Simon knew well enough by now that it was a threatening stance. The Morgenstern's were so skilled with blades that the boy would have the blade out of the sheath and his head cleaved off before he had the chance to call out, probably even blink. "Yes I suppose my sister Rebecca would still remember me. I still remember her at least."

"You can count yourself lucky then, Mundane." Turning, he looked to the door with an air of defused regality, like an exhausted monarch that was just beyond repair. He seemed broken in that moment and the door seemed to stop rattling against his strong arm all at once. Perhaps Clary had heard the new tone her brother spoke in, or perhaps she felt it. The connection between the two was always phenomenal.

"You have been given so much more than what I have been denied. That human affection you're ravished in is taken from _**somewhere you know**_. So when I desire something, yes, I will get what I want. I'll be keeping Clary to myself today, thanks." Jonathan called, over his shoulder as he wrenched the door open. The red headed girl darted out and the motion had her against his chest in an instant as he turned and dragged her back inside tucked neatly against his chest. Her wide-eyed expression told Simon all he needed to know; she'd been expecting this to have ended with his blood splattered along the walls. She struck him only twice, demanding to be let go, but they all knew her heart wasn't in it. "Consider it retribution for the things you steal from me on a daily basis, _**Mundane**_."

Bitterness had ebbed into his tone and his nose had shriveled upward in disgust. Clary looked about to protest, but he shut her up with a wilting look to his black eyes and his sneer. With that the door slammed shut, cutting off the plaintive cry the girl gave. Nodding mutely, Simon dragged his feet back to Clary's room, waiting the day out. The party was mere hours away anyway. How much trouble could he possibly get into in such a short amount of time?

He'd just have to find a way to occupy himself in the meantime until it was time to get ready.

_**XOX**_

Jace sat silently in the office, his hands clasping each other before him. The room was cold, but he had nowhere else to be, no want to be anywhere else, for that matter. He had a book spread over his knees, one that Alec had specifically suggested, but his eyes coursed over it not really taking in anything. He heard the door open and close behind him but he didn't budge. His eyes staring at the single word that kept sending him back to the beginning. He remembered every detail, down to every hair on her pretty red head, and he often wondered if he had done something that day, something that had changed his future irrevocably. It was like he was living lost in that first moment that she turned and met his gaze, and everything after that had blurred in a way that seemed unexplainable. From that day forth he had strived to remain by her side, forever, and he reveled in the completeness he felt every time he was near.

A coming out party… The whole idea was so absurd. He didn't want to give her up so someone else could court her, someone who was more acceptable a choice for a girl in her status, someone that would try to make her happy. Tonight she would be paraded around for thousands to see, to be made desirable and on display for everyone to see how precious she was and what a match she would make. Tonight marked his last chance at happiness with her too. He either moved on her now or someone else would, and with how Clary's heart operated, she was sure to love anyone that she settled on with every thrum of her heartbeat, with every ounce of her being.

She deserved to be happy, but he was willing to fight for her. He'd never given any thought to where his life would go past serving Valentine and his needs, but he couldn't see himself without her. He would do everything in his power to keep her in his life.

"You entered my study, uninvited. Why, Jace?"

The voice startled him, making Jace jump a good foot from the chair before he sheepishly turned to watch the father he had idolized, who had created the girl he pinned for now. He was formidable and threatening to everything he held dear.

Standing, the boy shuffled behind the chair, his hands playing idly on the back. His fingers continuously twitched, giving him a very nervous appearance. As his eyes closed, he imagined Clary standing behind him, and his pulse wavered again nervously, and he swallowed dryly.

"I have always done my best to do right by you," Jace began strongly despite the strain his body was putting itself through. He felt like he was in danger of spontaneously lighting on fire the longer the smoldering gaze lingered on him. His pulse was leaping in his throat, making it harder to breathe as his head swam and Jace had long begun to sweat under the intensity. "A-a-and be-because of th-th-this, I-I have to confess… you ha-have the right to know-"

He couldn't bring himself to ask what he had come here for. It had been his intention to ask for his daughter's hand, to at least get his blessing to try for her. After waiting here for almost an hour, however, he had lost all of his nerve. If it weren't for the looming figure behind him, he would have bolted away to safety.

"Know _**what,**_ Jace?"

Valentine did little to help the situation. He always was a domineering man, nut when he spoke with that authoritative, grating voice, Jace felt suddenly spineless without any legs to stand on.

"_**AlecandIarereadyforamission."**_

Well _**that**_ was unexpected. Valentine expected far worse, knowing the relationships that his son formed and the hazards the boy tended to indulge in. The habits of running head first into danger seemed to run his chances of dying bloody and in pieces pretty high. By far, this was the pleasantest of surprises. He let out the breath he had been holding.

After a few moments of awkward silence, the boy yanked his collar down and to the side to expose the lightly tanned flesh beneath, where a swirling mark sat as his evidence, stark against his collarbone. He probably hadn't meant to flash it, but rather aid in his breathing, but Valentine saw it, a courage rune, not that it helped him much now. The boy was still in deep fear of him, as if he would send him to meet their maker over something so trivial.

He had written off Alec ever forming a bond with his son, but this boy had extended his hand in friendship to everyone. Perhaps Jace would finish off where Jonathan had started after all.

Jace flinched as a hand came down on his head, expecting a strike. Instead, Valentine smoothed the soft curls affectionately instead, "Bring me Clarissa, and I will give it consideration. I have need of her now, and she seems to have been running from me."

_**XOX**_

As gently as he could, the starlight haired boy slammed his sister against the door. The girl was less resistant when he went easy on her, guided her where he wanted her to be rather than forcing her. Coercion came only when he couldn't persuade her to do as she was asked, and few times did he ever resort to violence.

She already had a fair share of understanding with that reward system and avoided his wrath almost as much as he avoided hers.

"Let. Me. Go."

The tension in his arms didn't give up nor falter as she tried to shove him off of her. He never asked, he only took, stole. Her brother didn't take orders he gave them, and she had fallen for so many years to his needs and wants effortlessly.

No longer. She tired of this game she had no hope of winning. She loved her brother, but she refused to allow him to abuse her to sate the raging bloodlust that had started by her having _**friends**_. She was allowed to have companionship, regardless of any relationship she might have with this boy or any other, it didn't matter. Jonathan wouldn't be allowed to dictate who she hung out with and when.

Finally breaking free, Jonathan desperately grabbed for her hand as she turned half a pace into the room, looking positively feral. He wanted her near, always near. She was the only one to ever show him unconditional love and affection. Jace didn't count in that category, not yet. From childhood she helped him come to terms with this monster within that ebbed at the edges of his sanity.

As she distanced herself, his hand tightened on her wrist, and he forced himself not to drag her back to the hazardous safety of his arms. Any moment he could lose control and hurt her, but without either Clary or Jace he was without hope. He held her hand between them in a bone shattering hold, and he raised his gaze from the last desperate connection to her dark eyes. She was furious.

"I'm not a toy, Jonathan." Clary viciously snarled, yanking her hand away. Her brother watched her, mildly amused as he shoved her back against the firm plane of the door and he raked his hand up her thigh to her hip, his thumb caressing the curve of the protruding bone against the soft silk blue dress.

He wondered sometimes if any woman would please him the way she did. It wasn't just on a genetic level, what he found attractive in his sister. It was her entire entity, from her gently rounded curves, to her wild curls, and even the wounded animal he was growing fond of. This darker look was out of place on her soft face, and he wanted it gone.

The hand that held her wrist traveled up her arm, entangling his long digits in the luscious red curls, and he went to press a chaste kiss to her full lips until a sharp jolt stopped him, forcing him back.

Her hand had smacked him across the face, her nails catching the flesh enough to draw blood from the corner of his bottom lip. Pain blossomed in his cheek, striking it a bright tempered pink red, and his jaw throbbed in tempo with his heartbeat. His eyes widened in confusion and then narrowed, watching her, reading her.

Suddenly threatened, he chose wisely to give her enough room to escape him. As he side stepped, his hand rose of its own volition to caress the broken flesh that heated across his face. He stepped back just as the air seemed to boil with a faint sizzling noise that smelled like astringent to him, clean and burning. Jonathan's throat tightened and left him inexplicable impeded him from doing anything to make her stop unless he had little care for his limbs.

Darkly, she gave him a leveling look, her eyes narrow as she shoved past the boy. The door yanked open and she was gone without shutting it. Stepping out into the hall a few seconds after, he was thankful the Mundane had taken the hint and gone, and he gave a half- hearted chase after her. They shouldn't make a scene, "Clary-!"

She turned momentarily; her pause was only to give him the respect he deserved as her family, even though she wanted to get as much space between them; she had even passed her room up and was heading towards the other wings of the house. Tentatively he stepped towards her, which sent his little sister into a shaking frenzy. Her head whopped back and forth, sending her hair bouncing wildly. "Leave me alone, Jonathan Christopher!"

With that she bolted, leaving that last image he burned in his mind that look of hate, and the pain of angelic power burning him everywhere and nothing to soothe himself with.

_**XOX**_

"Clarissa!" Jace called, just in time to see her dress waver behind her as she dodged down another corner.

Clary, in a hurry as always, took pause, hearing the way her name dripped from the boy's full lips, and turned halfway around, her arms twisting away from her sides to elegantly float out around her as her dress swished from the rapid movement.

Jace approached rather quickly, faster than she had anticipated and the red haired woman watched as his muscles seemed to ripple beneath his clothes in the most tantalizing of displays. He watched her too, and the intensity almost made her melt as she leaned against a closed doorway.

He noticed the glossiness to her eyes and the wet still clinging to her lashes, but he brushed it aside. It was none of his business.

"Your father bids an audience with you, Clarissa." Jace's hard amber eyes watched her, always they watched, lingering on her like a man whom dying of thirst in a desert looked on a poisoned lake knowing he had no choice but to drink from it. His gaze perplexed and perturbed her, because deep in her soul she knew she that he was her brother's man and by extension her father's son, as much as she was her father's daughter, and she could not place if the looks he set upon her were of a watchful guard as they should have or of a fearful man as he could be.

Jace watched her curiously, as the gorgeous young woman thought throug h her options. He could see the gears turning in her head as the brilliant green eyes darted this way and that before they finally rose, settling to rest on his. He wondered if her full name had bothered her that much, but he was trying to distance himself from her in any way he could. After some time, she nodded her assent, and stepped aside, resigned to allow him to lead her to the office or the library where she knew her father would be this time of day.

Their walk was nearly silent, and the quickest moment of Jace's life that he longed to repeat forever. Regardless of their physical and emotional distance, he wished he could keep her, stay with her, but knew quite plainly it was impossible. He would always be four steps behind her, close enough to see her happiness, but never enough to experience it. The entire trip took less than ten minutes but he reached for her hand at least a few hundred times only to shoot himself down.

She wouldn't want him, she couldn't. Clary was the star that burned brightest in this world, and he was Jace, the orphan, the unwanted child that was a inconvenience to her family.

The only person to ever make him feel wanted always was Jonathan, and he was abusively using him for his own needs.

Sweeping past him, her soft dress brushed his hand when at long last he had gotten enough nerve gathered to go for it and she muttered a thank you before shutting the office door in his face.

So much for nerves.

He'd have to ask Alec for a better rune before he made a fool out of himself again.

_**XOX**_

She spoke harshly, her eyes not meeting his. She had seen it then, and it had upset her. This man cared more for the experimentation then he did his own children. No wonder Clary had been almost in tears when she had first arrived. The young girl had given her a malicious glare, wearing a face that Maryse never saw her put on as she shoved past her. The poor girl thought she aimed to replace her mother, and perhaps she did, but she didn't need Valentine's daughter to approve of their relationship. She just needed him to enjoy it, "The arrangements are in order. Everything will be in time for tonight._**"**_

Valentine nodded his understanding, still firmly placed at the window. He faced the forest to the east, the dark shadows within the trees of great interest to him, and the dark haired woman wondered why. Standing right behind him, she saw nothing in the woods to warrant his inattentive behavior.

Perhaps Clary had said something to hurt him.

"Amatis is positively mad." Maryse looked out the window, busying herself if nothing else as she looked after his gaze, waiting for something to jump out and suddenly make itself known, "Keeps begging me for her husband's son back."

He only nodded his understanding slightly, recognizing small talk for what it was.

"How fairs my daughter's fiancé?" Maryse asked, settling down into the chaise, her head pillowed by her arm. She had watched from a much nearer distance than Valentine's own wife as he descended into madness, watched as he shot himself up with angelic blood. He reacted far less to such small doses, and she wondered when his need would grow again, and they would have to go down and drain the angel in the basement.

In a hope that she might get closer to this man, she had willingly taken an administered supplement, exposing her daughter to some kind of monster's essence years ago. In the long run, it had worked, but at an unknown cost. She loved her daughter, regardless of her quirks, but sometimes she wondered if certain qualities where her responsibility. Maryse felt responsible, nonetheless, for Isabelle's happiness, for all of the children's happiness really, Valentine's and her own, and even Jace, and she accepted the mad notion that Valentine knew best making breeding pairs for each of his experiments. At least this way someone could truly understand her wickedly lovely daughter.

"He was specifically uninvited to tonight's party." At long last he responded with a full sentence, turning away from the woods. A shifting in the foliage, against the wind caught her attention before the wood fell silent once more. Ironic, that once the man's attention drew away its focus that something interesting finally happened.

She watched now, waiting for anything to emerge. Nothing came as the minutes ticked by and at last she too dragged herself from the window, to follow Valentine back to the ballroom to finalize everything.

Neither of them saw the shuttering of the forest again, nor heard the lone howl that pierced the settling peace of sunset off in the distance, nor the way all of the wildlife had gone eerily still now, the birds all gone and the deer at the edges of the forest, unwilling to break for the clearing just yet. A buck darted out, rapidly trying to evade, before it took off away from the forest up over a hill to disappear over it.

Within moments, a woman in a thin, strappy white sundress walked out of the wood, raven hair whipping lusciously on the wind, catching fire in the dying light.

No one would ever conceive what would occur this night. Many would try, but none would ever get close enough to make any difference. It made the girl smile viciously as she continued her prowl along the plains, her destination the great house not two miles off of Brocilind Forest.

_**XOX**_

Taking her little brother into her arms, Clary peered down at the toddler that clung to her like a lifeline as she bounced him on her hip. She remembered a year or so this wouldn't have been possible. She had been so mad.

How could her father have forgotten her mother like that? Didn't he still love her, miss her?

She was out there somewhere.

_**She **_missed her mother desperately.

Max gurgled and tugged at one of the columns of hair to aid its escape from her bun, squealing as the silky lock escaped his grasp and bounced free. Glancing down at the young boy, Clary smiled, pressing a warm kiss to the smooth expanse of his forehead.

"Guck Caree!" he gurgled. His pudgy hand swiped at the wet spot on his forehead as the girl swooped in for another.

Isabelle responded with a despondent sigh, tugging twice at the mass she had been working on for almost a half hour, letting the curls cascade over her shoulders before beginning again. Reaching over, the girl coated her fingers yet again in a liquid meant to smooth, and rubbed it through the locks before setting to the layering braids that would sweep her hair upward prettily once they were done.

That is if Max didn't have other plans. This was now the third attempt that the child had messed up her arduous task, and she was beginning to see why the housemaids normally did her hair; Clary had the thickest hair she had ever seen, and was wildly unruly without constant attention. Without having it up it was a wonder that it didn't look like a nest all the time from the countless knots Isabelle had encountered.

Twisting one braid back towards the base of her neck to rest for the moment, she saw their brother's chubby hand moving back to her work. Her hand came down on his with a soft crack, "Maxwell!"

"Szzyyyy!" His face began to scrunch together and the tears were coming now, whether they were from injury to his ego or his hand, the girl's couldn't tell and Clary had no choice but let the boy go as he began wriggling around in her arms, reaching for his other sister. He climbed down quickly, and wrapped his pudgy arms around the irritable girl's legs, hugging tightly.

This was still taking some time to get used to. She and her once best friend now were family, bound together by this young, bumbling infant that demanded the attention of both sisters always.

Leaning forward, she settled her chin on the slighter girl's shoulder, looking at their reflection in the mirror. Clary's eyes darted to look at her in the reflection and smiled, letting Max slide away to tumble in the dark haired sister's clothes strewn all over the floor. He was lost in moments, much like a kid in a ball pit, but both girls didn't seem to care much. They would hunt him down when they were done here, and the task would get done doubly as fast.

"What are you wearing tonight?" Isabelle asked when she began the last- minute task of directing the curls the way she wanted them, a final step before the set the look with hair spray. Clary nodded to the bed where she had earlier tossed a mass of deep blue silk that looked rumpled and pinned by dainty butterflies, silver and clear in color.

The expensiveness of it needed no explanation, but Clary gave it freely enough, "Jonathan insisted."

"Of course he did."

Clary looked at the jealous look that passed over her oldest friend's face and wondered what that might be about. The woman straightened, and walked over to the dress in question, and picked it up gently. The soft fabric shifted in her hands like fluid and as it moved the butterflies caught the light with the tips of their fluttering wings down the train, a delicate dusting of gold on the tips of their wings, falling to sweep the ground as she investigated its worth.

Something fell from the folds and Isabelle glanced at what first appeared to be a slip before she knelt to retrieve it.

"What's thi-" A second dress, one in champagne chiffon with a corset lacing the bare back and a golden satin brocade cinched at the waistline. Looking to Clary, the answer was clear enough and she threw the thicker dress side, pressing the luxurious gown to her body.

"That would be yours."

Clary watched, pleased with herself as the girl began stripping without any preconceived notion of modesty, desperate to pull the beautiful dress on. She had done well, even if Jonathan would be mad that she had not spent all of his money on herself.

Tough, the little bastard deserved a good measure of disappointment.

Leaning back in the chair, the Morgenstern girl spun her curls back into place again, before plucking the can of hairspray off the dresser and setting it herself.

Her sister deserved her own time to enjoy this, anyway.

_**XOX**_

There was very little that didn't interest her in the Shadow Hunter world. Everything was so vibrant and alive that it was a wonder that such a place existed in the same universe that housed her own world, where there was only decay.

She had followed the faint beacon of the eternal glow that the city emitted for nearly three weeks and her feet were aching in a way she had not experienced before. Aline had journeyed alone across the Asian continent, and though the change of scenery was nice the trip had taken much longer than she had anticipated.

She was meant to arrive in early spring when the fall, but her understanding of time's passage was limited. She had endured the end of a blistering winter and a wondrous spring when the earth was alive and new, much as her life would be now, and it was autumn before she knew it. There was a bitter chill coming fast now and she was elated when she finally spotted the ever present glow on the horizon that Lilith had spoken of. She was not willing to pass another winter out in the wastelands. Even the Nihon monsters had abandoned her in her journey.

_**Go there... Redeem your birthright.**_

The gates stood formidable and untouched by time in a way that was impressive; almost as old as the home she had made herself in China, it was glimmering and new and so far from decrepit. The fortress, as she could think of no better way to describe it, was iron clad when she tested its strength and finding no obvious weaknesses, she withdrew to gauge the likelihood that any other plan might succeed.

She was just about to try climbing over the wall and slipping down safely to the other side when a man called out to her, obvious in his stress, to ask her with some distress whether she had been attacked.

Sure enough when she glanced down she noticed her dress had been shredded to ribbons. It saddened her slightly and she couldn't understand exactly why. She had never given a second thought about her attire, why would she start now?

_**Because-**_ she reasoned with herself as she turned distasteful eyes to her once pretty golden dress, now covered with splotches of dirt and splashes of blood and ichor- _**today she would meet the boy, the one who's flesh paved the way for her own: her should be Adam to his Eve.**_

She had taken the dress from Beijing Institute, the last place her mother and father had lived with her in a family environment. She had stolen it intentionally, remembering the way the fire had caught the silk like it was ablaze; it was one of the few dresses that remained of Jia's and now it was destroyed to join the others that had fallen to vandalism and time.

She managed to dart past the guard just as he approached her, and she ran as fast as her tiny legs could carry here. The girl couldn't believe her luck. Not only had she gotten in but the poor creature standing watch was too stupid to follow and chase her back out. Oh the havoc she could make now that she was far enough into the ancient city.

In reality, the guard had taken pity on her. The girl looked horrified and mystified all at the same time. He had stood aside and let her skittishly dart around him, much like one might think a school of fish might move when they thought they were being pursued by a shark or the Merfolk. He smiled when the raven haired girl turned and looked back at him about a block away, her locks car hi g on the wind. She was safe now, she looked it, he reasoned, he had done the right thing letting her in. She was Nephilim, and after all, and this was the ancient city, the safest place for their kind to be, and the last barrio between their world and the demons that prowled in shadows.

Once inside no one have any indication that she didn't belong on the streets. She felt like a wolf in sheep's clothing, a predator among unsuspecting prey as Nephilim in luxurious finery bustled past her. Women shifted past her in flowing dresses made of statins and silks and chiffon, the fabrics fluttering like flags on the breeze behind them as they past arm in arm or occasionally accompanied by men in oddly stiff shirts and layered oddly cut jackets, tied together with a matching bit of rope that they attempted to strangle themselves with.

The Asian girl watched, amused at the faces of the Nephilim as they passed her. They pitied, they wondered, they worried but none of them feared. It was the first time she could remember that blatant fear never approached their eyes where she was concerned. Even Maryse grew to fear her. Perhaps these creatures were more given to curiosity than anything else.

Looking around, she felt inadequate for the first time in her life. These people were so certain of themselves, so full of poise and grace in a way that she could never see herself being. Suddenly she felt unworthy; was she doing the right thing in coming here to meet him, the boy with her eyes?

She didn't feel so anymore.

_**XOX**_

"Are you trying to get into the party?" A voice called rich and deep, drawing her from her self- doubt.

She looked up to the smug face of a boy about her age with gentle wisps of brown curls and two toned eyes, one brown and its partner green, but both had orange amber around the pupils. He seemed calculating and curios all at once, and as he watched her, Aline noticed him shift his weight to the left side and he slid a fairly marked hand out of his pocket and folding it across his chest, the angle hiding a rune she had not seen before on his forearm, "that makes two of us."

He appraised her, she read it in his eyes, could see it reflected on his face, "I wouldn't let you in though, _**not looking like that**_,"

The brown haired boy's eye twitched and his face skewed up adorably in confusion. _**Why had he said that?**_ It was incredibly rude and mean and he hadn't really meant it. She appeared tired and ragged, but underneath all of the grime she carried he was certain that she was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on, exotic and wild in a way he had never experienced. He would have let her in, no matter what she was wearing.

She was like playing with fire and reveling in chilling the burn. Her lips upturned wickedly in response but her eyes were angry. He had not made a good first impression.

**No,** he corrected himself_**, he wouldn't have let her in**_. Something in her dark eyes turned him on an off of the idea like a flickering light bulb, igniting and dying out with every shift of her black orbs, every flutter of her equally dark lashes.

He shifted minutely away and looked around. People were ignoring them for now, but he didn't doubt someone would eventually see him milling about with the haggard looking girl. He looked back to her, contemplating if he could trust her to follow him or not.

She watched him, irritably aware of the stare he laid upon her. Was she that odd looking that he could not draw away his gaze?

It was familiar and distant, welcoming and closed off. She had never come across a being so all over that she could not place whether it intended to be friend or foe. After a moment, the boy ran his hand through his hair, an off-kilter smile tugging at his pale lips, "Sorry. I don't know when to keep my mouth shut."

"If you really want to go in though, you really ought to change." He turned his back to her, his eyes darting along the rooftop for his way in, sizing up his options of infiltration. The exotic girl was a change but nothing but a distraction. "Either way, you need to get off the streets. In a few hours only the city's urchins and defects won't be inside the gates of that house when the party goes underway. Anywhere out here is dangerous."

If she were to somehow make it inside, then maybe she'd be worth his time. Until that, his attention would be directed elsewhere. With his gaze upward and scanning, he stepped away from her, approaching the gate. His hand shoved deep into the thick of the plant thriving in tall gate and smiled brightly. He glanced back over his shoulder back at the beauty that watched him curiously as the plant rose up to wrap around his wrist of its own accord. With a sure footed grip, he gripped the vine tightly and launched himself upward, embarking up the plane of elegant iron work where the strength had been left to question by the rapid overgrowing ivy.

Aline glanced at the dress and wondered how she would come across such a replacement. With a last irritable noise directed at the boy who had insulted her, she ripped the silk top layer away, leaving herself in the blood red thin layer beneath. Her hands crumpled the once pretty silk and pitched it angrily to the dirt below.

It wasn't perfect, but it was better this way.

Running after him, she set off to follow him up the grated side of the gate. She was faster than he was, more agile, and once he reached the top of the gate's sharp peak, he stopped to find a way to twist over the edge and descend.

Aline, however, just stepped over the edge and leapt down, knowing enough that she could take the fall with ease from years of climbing and falling from greater heights than this gathering food and evading predators.

The boy turned, a wonder filled look pulling at his shocked face.

Perhaps he should have given her a second look. It wasn't like him to underestimate someone, especially a Nephilim. This time, she walked away from him, ignoring his plight. Sitting on the edge of the fence, he tightened his grip and leaned forward, trying to get her attention, "Hey! Wait a minute! Miss-"

"Hey I don't even know your name!"

Aline continued on without him, abandoning him the heights he had brought himself to. He anxiously sat there, waiting for her to return in vain. She had other things planned, and helping him with his fear of a ten foot fall was not among them.

"I'm Chris!" he cried, his voice trembling. He hoped that the power of his name would sway her. The Wayland's were a well-known family, albeit quiet and allusive. It was fair to say that no one but he and Valentine had seen his father in the past five years. The sound of his voice made her pause, but he had hope it had been the prior. It meant he had something to sway her somehow. "Wayland! I live just next door, if you help me... I'll… I'll-"

"You'll what?" Aline stood at war with herself, and her eyes drifted closed, trying to focus her energies to strategizing and thought. Nephilim were pack animals; it was a conclusion she had come up with at a young age. Her connection to Maryse could not be a fluke, simply her base nature. Yet this boy's plight did not bother her in the slightest. He was like any other creature she had encountered. He did, however, seem to have a better understanding of how things worked here and might still give her an edge on advancing further. Something about him however, was too strange for her to trust. The payment would have to be steep for her to go against her instinct. After all, they had not led her astray yet. Turning back to look at him, her face turned withering and lethal, her hand coming to rest at her hip as she leaned into that leg, "From where I'm standing, you have nothing else to offer me."

What did he have to offer her? Not much. The girl didn't seem to be materialistic like most her age, and she appeared wild. His strengths were minimal, and hers were unseen. She had surprised him already three times this night, and he could only assume it was only the beginning. "I'll owe you one?"

Swearing, the boy watched as he realized he had not won her over yet. Her brows rose and she laughed sharply, as if unsure if he was serious or not. When no alternation of his offer came, she shook her head, and left without a second glance.

Of course she would leave. What did he have to offer anyone, other than his name?

She hesitated again a few feet away, and looked back. _**Nephilim were pack animals**_. But she was not entirely Nephilim. She ought to accept both sides to her nature and accept them. Surely the side that demanded she walk away from him in his time of need was the demonic side. But now, a tiny voice cried inside of her heart, begging her to turn back and help him. She marched back to the fence and yanked the plant life away from the gate, thoroughly eliminating his way down the other side and making him lose balance. He swayed for a moment, before crashing down hard at her feet.

"You owe me _**'one'**_." She clarified, her gaze downcast and submissive, but her shoulders were set back and strong. She was unsure what exactly the payment was, but the nagging feeling in the back of her head was gone. "_**But we are not friends."**_

"I don't have any friends." The boy whispered loud enough for her to hear but softly enough that her silence could be justified by the deafness. He didn't have to admit it to her, but he had, and standing up he saw that that was the last kindness she would do him. She really was drawing hard lines that gave him no chance to breach, "So I wouldn't be good enough for you anyway."

"You're right." Aline called as she kept moving away, "But not for the reasons you think."

_**XOX**_

_**Author's Note:**_

_**Saw a funny little gif the other day that was from the book where Valentine told Clary he didn't approve of her name. The author agreed. He would have called her Jonathan too.**_

_**Ba-dum-tch!**_

_**The title came from the band Tonight Alive's "Breaking and Entering."**_

_**For those of you trying to work things out, Max is Valentines son in this FF. I tried to allude to it as much but I feel that if anyone hasn't gotten it yet, then they deserve to know before they're just confused by the chapters to come.**_

_**Aline front: **_

_**There's a strong message that I was trying to pass on with Lilith and Aline's separation. As she parts from her mother, she calls her okaa- san for the first time. Now okaa- san (or okaasan without the hyphen) vs Haha lesson: Okaa- san is often used as a formal way to call someone's mother, but Haha is actually how one would actually call their own mother. It's informal, but it's comfortable. Aline grew up knowing Lilith wasn't her mother, surrounded by monsters who revered Lilith, because she still is the Mother of Warlocks (but let's face it, she's mother of ALL demons) and those beasts that prowled around would give her adequate respect. That being said, I have it in my mind that the intelligent ones would all address her as mother, and the form the Japanese demon- borne would give would be Okaa- sama, the most respectful way to call her. Aline in ending their relationship, both distance herself as well as establishes that dying affection changes the way she refers to Lilith. The woman that practically raised her is no longer close enough to informally address, and so she calls her Okaa- san, and tells her that she loves (daisuki) her, though the emotion has been pretty evasive through most of her life. Though she is what she is, and there has been little physical love shown on either side, she does love the woman, and the Lilith loves her. Choosing to leave and make her own way in the world will destroy what they had in their decrepit home.**_

_**Also I understand that Aline is Chinese, but for the sake of continuance, she's been exposed to Japanese monsters, so we'll assume she's picked up at least enough of the tongue. **_

_**Aline and Chris was an interesting thing to think about. It wasn't a dynamic I had planned on exploring, but I'm glad I did it. Like Isabelle and Jonathan, they click when the fae blood swings the right way. They don't always match up, but when they do, they feel the connection. This is also one of many reasons why Chris won't make an impression on Isabelle in the next half of this chapter. They're dealing with two faerie- bloods which are erratically changing. **_

_**On that Note…..The next chapter will probably be shorter compared to where I normally would post. I have a plot set where I was going to cut the end of this chapter off, but I felt like certain sections needed more, so rather than a 18k chapter, maybe you'll be getting two 9k ones. Something around there I hope. I do apologize for the lengthier time that I took to post. Was rather busy, started up a managerial course, as well as other fun around my workplace and home left me with little time to write. You should expect the next chapter within two weeks if all goes to plan (though not everything in life can be planned, if anything prevents me from posting within that time, I sincerely apologize.)**_

_**As always, thank you everyone for reading, and a special thanks for my reviewers.**_

_**You all are wondrous to me 3**_

_**Like it?**_

_**Review, Follow, Favorite**_

_**Till Next time, **_

_**TAORI**_


	7. You Must Make Up Your Own Mind B&E p2

Jace wasn't surprised by the turnout. Just knowing that there was a party that all were being admitted to, assuming they could afford a good enough gift, at the Morgenstern mansion and was being thrown for the wondrous beauty had people flocking faster than a red light illuminating the demon towers.

There had to be well over two thousand people stuffed into the grounds, and the Grand Hall was a writhing mass of swaying bodies, so much so that the band was set up in the balcony and had been roped off upstairs. It was a wonder that he could keep track of her at all. Then again, his world revolved around Valentine's needs and wants, and his family's. He hadn't lost track of Clary or her brother since the moment they walked into the room, and every moment since was like a blade in his chest. She was illuminating and vibrantly happy, and the kinship between them made them untouchable. Jace couldn't count how many people that had tried to draw either's attention for long only to burn out after a few moments.

Even he wouldn't be able to obtain her attention, should he choose to try for it. Jace wasn't up for rejection, however. Not now. He was content to observe, to protect, to stand in the side lines and see how she swelled with happiness, and later take his punishment happily for letting Jonathan see him staring at her.

Her world was full of glittering gems and satin brocade finery, so it seemed so natural, so fluid to see her twirling in the arms of another man. Her brother, a pale man that stood nearly two heads taller than the pale red- headed beauty, held her close enough for lovers, but no one seemed to notice or care enough to speak out about it. Spinning her once more, Jonathan let her spin herself into a mess, her royal blue gown swirling around her faster than her legs carried her. Tiny fixtures on her dress caught the candlelight across the bunched, bustle- style back to her dress as it spun around her, hundreds of crystal butterflies ready to take flight. Her brother seemed amused with himself, and when she had finally righted herself, Clary had fixed him with her deadliest of glares. She was so busy hating him, in fact, that she had all but missed the fact that he had already moved on to his next dance partner, and was leading the girl as far as way as he could.

He had always had that way about him, and it enraged Clary. Despite the unease he sparked in her, he always seemed to charm the pants off of anyone who made eye contact for too long.

Apparently some ditzy blonde this time had caught his eye, and her atrocious laughter annoyed Clary more than it angered her. She knew he'd lose interest soon enough and move on to the next.

She had accepted that she would have to face him tonight and civilly act like they were a well united family. It wouldn't do for anyone outside their tight group of family friends to know of the discord between Jonathan and her. Hell, right now only Isabelle really knew about the tiff from earlier.

She was so wrapped up in her self-hatred and the despising, seething glares at her own kin that she almost missed a question that had been aimed at her. Turning away at last, her soft pout seemed to melt away as she forced a half smile on, "I'm sorry...?"

Jace smirked, having already accepted her inattentive nature. He leaned in so that they were practically on top of one another and pulled a side swept curl that had escaped her braided bun behind her ear, before whispering softly into the shell of her exposed ear, "I asked if you wanted to get out of here."

His voice was gentle, a whisper against her ear, and she let it linger, floating around her head. Had his lips touched her ear? She swore she could feel moisture lingering, warmth spreading across her cheeks and chest as slight goose bumps rose up her arms._** Did she?**_ Honestly she would have liked to have never even come, but she was expected to be here. People would only get upset when they realized she had ditched her own party. She looked uneasy, surveying the room with a look of regal formality and her dainty arms wrapped under her breasts in an attempt to warm herself from the sudden chill he had brought her, "No, I'm fine. I'm sort of enjoying the party."

"People that are enjoying themselves don't typically make _**that**_ face, Clary." Jace's hand settled heavily on her shoulder, and slid down her arm to hook itself on her bent elbow.

Her brother returned rather quickly, as if he had sensed another man moving in on his sister. He sidled up beside her other side, "Perhaps you _**ought**_ to dance with Jace, _**little sister**_."

He glanced between the two, sizing them up. They seemed entirely too chummy with one another and he didn't like the way Jace was touching his sister. Reaching between them, he pulled the stray curl from behind her ear, twirling it in his fingers idly as he smoothed it back into place, "You both look_** positively bored **_standing around like wallflowers."

_**XOX**_

Isabelle swayed gently, looking around the room in silence as the soft music wafted around her. Many people looked to her, the gorgeousness of dress seemed to perplex many as they all knew who she was and she could swear she already heard rumors churning in their empty heads as they passed her, which had made her standoffish and her aloofness made her a subject of desire to those without enough nerve for her taste; they would all talk tomorrow when someone so powerful was not so close to earshot. Half of these people would have her favor for who she was already close to and who considered her a close ally in hopes to better themselves, and the other half desired her attentions for less than despicable practices. She had seen such a particularly watchful gaze examining her from across the room, and knew that it was hazed with desire, but had little desire of her own to make anything happen with the boy that watched her. She was used to those looks by now, and though the hungry expressions gave her a sense of worthiness, she could care less. Turning, she looked away from the boy with dirty brown hair watching her, and took a sip from her wine glass as she looked at the crystal prisms they had hung in the hall as one of them deflected light over her face and quickly spiraled away. They prettily casted a rainbow of colors along the golden and white marble walls, giving the once cold room a warmer feel to it. Isabelle thought of Simon and his ilk, and if they perhaps found it difficult to be in here now. Looking around, she caught another pair of eyes watching her as well from not far enough away, hot enough to melt, and with a huff, she stalked off to the wall where she saw a few acquaintances milling around. She would have to acknowledge him eventually, she knew, but until then, Michael Wayland's son would just have to wait.

The boy was certain she was one of the most gorgeous creatures he had ever seen. Shapely yet thin, she looked solid, and golden electrum whip she carried was coiled dangerously around the length of her long neck with the frayed end curling loosely to her breast bone, isolating the flesh between it and the sparking neckline of her pale dress, the long plunge that exposed her soft looking skin. She didn't look pleased to be there, and she drew long sips from the glass she swirled like they could magically transport her to somewhere she'd rather be.

Perhaps she was simply lonely. Being the stepdaughter of the Valentine Morgenstern must be rather intimidating even if it did have its perks. He hadn't seen a single person save for the hostess so much as walk with her, and the raven-haired beauty was left alone now for hours. If it had been him in that situation, he would have gone positively insane by now.

Stepping up to stand in her path, the boy ran his hand through his thick hair, exposing long ears with a double shot of metal running through the middle of the cartilage. He smiled, his jawline wide- squared off, and as his lips pulled back his back molars could almost be seen. She might consider him handsome, strong. He was a fairly good match, he was everything a good Shadow hunter ought to be but he simply didn't interest her. Looking back over his shoulder in distaste, she saw that Simon had moved on and was in fact milling with his tray of hors d'oeuvres, actually doing his job for one in his life.

"Look, I've been trying to figure out how to approach you all night." He began, looking up at her with his unique eyes through thick brown lashes. Isabelle was inattentive. She looked elsewhere as if she was looking for someone, anyone at all really. "You don't make it very easy to walk up to you without having to tackle you or something along that line of thinking-"

"Not that I would tackle you!" he cried out, comically distressed at what had slipped out so easily, "Not that you need to be tackled, spanked maybe, unless you like that sort of thing. Then I'm all about it. Do you like chocolate? I like choco-"

Raising an eyebrow at him, Isabelle let her jaw slacken, and stared in amazement as he continued to talk himself in honest circles, no doubt having lost any sensitivity to exactly what he was spewing. Did he _**ever**_ stop talking? He was making her so dizzy….

"I'm Chris." his hand extended friendly enough, and she rolled her eyes, taking the fingers lightly in her own and pressing down lightly once. The warm hand beneath hers rose, tightening over her long fingers and brought the hand to his lips, kissing the backs of her digits individually like they were back in the dark ages. It bothered her tremendously, but the boy just didn't take the hint as she twitched. "Our fathers were close friends once, Parabatai, actually."

"_**Lovely," **_Isabelle purred, tugging three times before managing to wrench her fingers from his hand angrily. She had half a mind to brush him away and leave without explanation, but she let the bitterness on her tongue escape without cause, lashing out instead, "Just what I need in my life, _**another**_ Jonathan Christopher."

The boy watched her confused. He didn't know? Walking away, he gave chase, not letting her get a moment alone from him. She dodged the mob, half hoping to lose him, but somehow she knew he would be right on her tail. Isabelle spotted Clary and rounded the corner of the people, diving between them and crashed against her sister in arms. All three of them looked to her like she had lost her mind and the green eyed girl tried to find what had her startled so.

"Jonathan Christopher Wayland, meet the other two Jonathan Christopher's, w_**hom make my life difficult**_," Isabelle stated, her toned agitated as she motioned regally, her hand waving to each as if to set an example, Jonathan looked at her as if she went mad, her hand gesturing to him, "Master Morgenstern."

"And Herondale," she moved her hand toward the other boy, who looked outright confused. Isabelle crossed her arms over her chest, forcing her breasts upward. The motion had the newcomer's eyes almost out of his skull.

"It's rude to point, Izzy..." came the lofty sound of the girl between the two, a fiery young woman in a vibrant blue dress that matched the lovely flowers in her red hair, and her hand came up and touched Isabelle's in a gentle, knowing touch. They looked at each other, and Clary excused herself from between the brothers, drawing Isabelle away by her waist as she read the agitation in the other girl's frame.

They apparently had a lot to talk about.

Chris raised his hand and wiggled his fingers awkwardly in a wave as he looked between who was left. The air between the three of them was so thick he could have choked and the other two boys exchanged a glance that spoke of their distaste on so many levels. Jace would never shoot down the newcomer, but Jonathan had no qualms about cutting ties with anyone.

"Sooooo." The heterochromia eyed boy began, his eyes wide. He'd like to have at least a few friends, even if he couldn't leave his house to see them in a reasonably timely fashion, but he felt awkward, thrown into a conversation and lacking in his ability to form a good start again, "Apparently our fathers all had the same dreadful sense of humor…"

The boy smiled warmly, but Jace just stared in confusion, and Jonathan, whom had already considered leaving, wagged his index finger as he turned to exit. The boy's black eyes widened considerably as he raised his eyebrows and he tightened his jaw as if to stiffen what he really wanted to say as he nodded in time with his finger, "Aaannnd _**THAT**_ would be my sign to leave. Sorry boys, you know, pretty girls, better conversations. I'm sure you understand."

He sauntered away and Chris looked the way he went, noticing a flutter of red silk disappear over the veranda balcony. Good, that pompous asshole deserved a surprise.

Turning back, the boy quickly came to the understanding that Jace had taken the opportunity to ditch him as well.

_**XOX**_

The white haired boy rushed out the open doors onto the veranda. The night was chilly, but it was acceptable considering how warm it had gotten inside with how many people wandering about. The outdoor terrace was empty, and for that the boy was thankful. The last thing he wanted to do was explain why he had ducked outside to his father. He had been very specific that Clary was to enjoy herself, and since he had been specifically mentioned, he was not to leave for any purpose other than by her wish alone.

With a deep sigh, the boy dug around his pocket, his fingers closing around on the vial of blood he carried on his person for emergency administration. He would overcome this later with Jace's help, but right now, knowing it rested so close to him eased the edge enough.

He had chewed the edge of his lip off already, and blood darkly tainted his taste buds. If he had the chance, he would have gargled with something with a higher alcoholic quality to be rid of the taste, but settled for the glass of wine he had snagged on the way out. Throwing it back, he tossed the glass over the balcony thoughtlessly as he forced himself to prepare to return to the party.

As he turned however, a flash of something red darted away from him, flitting into the brush.

Why was someone hiding out here?

Running after it, he gave chase and leapt to the second, lower floor, where he caught the escapee by a long, crimson sleeve just as she was about to take a leap towards the trees bellow. It was a girl, dressed in what appeared to be a red satin robe over a slinky black dress beneath. He used her loose clothing to gain a better grip on her and when she struck out at him, he viciously grabbed her wrist in a nearly bone- crushing grasp.

The wild- looking girl struggled, and she tugged roughly on the grasp he had on her forearm and the silk ripped. She had been so close to taking a sharp nose dive off of the balcony, and even now she leaned away as if she meant to take the plunge. She twisted her entire body, putting all the weight on her one wrist that he held fast as her other hand raked viciously across his grasp on her as if she might be able to hurt him enough to free her. Glaring up at him, she had resigned herself to desperate measures and was about to ram her knee upwards into whatever she could manage, until her gaze fell upon eyes that so matched her own and the pale pallor that she had been dreaming of now for over two years floored her.

Aline's knees gave out on her and with a defeated cry, she fell upon the railing and all the fight in her abandoned her as the desperation to receive his acknowledgement overtook her. Was this really…?

Her hand shot up to cover her lips as another noise escaped from deep within her, pathetic and even more full of desperation than the first.

Jonathan stared wide- eyed at the girl staring back at him, her chest heaving. A light breeze teased her hair over her shoulders and across her face, blotting out her vision in wisps until the wind died out, but she seemed too mesmerized to do anything about it and her inability made her seem even slighter, like a wounded animal staring at a predator waiting for that final blow to take away the pain. Releasing her, he watched as she began to shake as she stared up at him when his hand moved on its own whim to twist the escaped hair and tucked the ebony locks back into place behind her delicate ear. She looked up at him, large black eyes endlessly searching as her lashes fluttered in the breeze and from her rapid blinking.

She crossed her legs as she leaned back, a smile lightly playing on her thick lips, and she seemed to glow, joyous for some unseen reason. Jonathan could clearly see from the safety of his position that her lips were cracked and stained with blood. Not hers, either, as the dried crimson seemed smeared and the remnants were flecked across her jaw and chin as well. Her eyes looked affectionately at him, like he was a lover of hers once, and as she watched him she sighed lovingly, so like the sighs that escaped and were stolen from Jace's lips when they had been kissing. It unnerved him and with the completion of this situation, he would doubly question stepping out onto a dark and secluded corner of his house that security was not present, "You're as perfect as I dreamed."

Taking a step back, the boy quickly backpedaled. No, he now realized, she was covered in blood. It was under her nails and up her arms too. She didn't have the dignity, or the care, or perhaps the forethought, to clean herself up before coming here. What kind of psychopath was this girl? What kind was he? He had touched her of his own free will, hadn't he? She could have been violent and dangerous to him, and he had held her, kept her close and within striking distance without knowing anything about her.

Dreamily, she slid from the rail, to her bare feet, crossing the distance with out- stretched hands.

"Jonathan…" So close now, he could see the force beneath her skin to remain submissive and weak. She was neither of these things; if any words would describe her now, Jonathan would have assumed they would all fall under the categories of dangerous and nut- job. Who in _**the hell**_ was this cuckoo? "How I have _**dreamed**_ of you."

_**XOX**_

Clary felt like she had been searching for either of her brothers for hours now. Once she caught the flash of golden locks however, she made her way quickly through the throngs of people, shoving some out of the way when they just didn't get the hint that she was in a hurry, though most of the party- goers dove out of her way as if she was a tank.

Coming up behind Jace, she wrapped her arms around him from behind, making the tall boy jump and twist painfully around.

She supposed that she was lucky. Jace should have responded as if it were an attack; that was how her father had raised them, and he responded at first as if he would strike first and ask questions later.

He eased when he saw it was her, however, and apologetically looked to the woman he had been talking to about Academy position openings and the likelihood that Jonathan or he might come to teach there, and turned back to the girl that clung desperately to him, "Clary what are you-"

"Get me out of here," Clary stopped him, taking her hand in his gently. "You asked me if I wanted to get out of here, and now is the opportune moment."

With a single tug, he followed effortlessly by taking the lead and escorting her through the mob back out the front exit, curious where she might want to go, but not enough to bother asking as they slipped past hundreds of people that watched them with vaguely hidden curiosity.

He would wait until the prying ears were off of them. Then again, in this house the Walls had ears and the doors had eyes. Somehow, everyone's secrets seemed to come to be common knowledge here. Everyone but Valentine's, but then again, most people had a healthy dose of self-preservation when it came to the head of the Morgenstern clan.

Ducking out of the Grand Hall, he let Clary lead the way out into the closed off part of the house, feeling like they were skipping out without anyone noticing, when in reality probably was just coming to terms that they weren't coming back.

_**XOX**_

Aline gave chase, and quickly fell upon the man, her arms closing tightly around his waist as she buried her face in the soft suit jacket he wore, the shawl- like fabric over her arms and the sleeves rubbing luxuriously against him. It was comforting, even if the crazy bitch was putting him on edge

"_**I was made to be yours," **_the girl purred warmly against his chest, "You can gladly do what you wish with my flesh, my life. I was made only for your happiness, my Jonathan."

Jonathan looked at the girl incredulously. _**She was his other half?**_ How pitiful. She was nothing in comparison to Clary- why even present her as an alternative to what he already knew completed him? This was the Eve to his Adam? How ridiculous. As if she could ever be compared to someone like him.

Her soft lips pressed eagerly to his throat, and he allowed it, reveling in the feel of her against him. This was the first girl to throw herself at him, and who was he to complain? She claimed to be his other half and he reserved the right to see that put to the test.

Her hand delved underneath his coat, and slipped it off with little restraint. He seemed to be letting her lead this first meeting, but without knowing where to go, she had no idea how to please him.

No man ever denied physical affection, however, and so she continued when he did not stop her.

Reeling, he gave a cry of disapproval, but she gave chase, falling against him with a kiss pressed urgently to his bottom lip. She wanted to feel every part of him, to breathe him in and become one being, like she had dreamed that they one day might do.

Gently, the fingertips searching over his bicep touched something near his shoulder that seemed to burn under her ministrations. It didn't hurt, but it was offsetting, like an electrical current running along his skin. Glancing back at the mark she traced softly over the white silk dress shirt, he could see a blood red, charred scar blooming up and staining the fabric.

He yanked the shirt away to look incredulously at a mark, a dark scar much like a faded mark that stood out exactly where he had seemed to spontaneously bleed, but there was no open flesh. Just a scar, in the shape of an upturned, clawed hand inspecting a pyramid in the light. Had that always been there?

"How did you-"

This had to be witch craft or some other wickedness. No one would ever walk up to him and offer themselves up like this. He didn't trust her, but curiosity grounded him. What if this had nothing to do with her? What if she spoke the truth and this really was the other half of his soul? Narrowing his eyes at her, he could have smirked as she floundered, trying to think of another way to prove herself to him.

Mutely, she shrugged away the fold of her gown, exposing the front of her bony shoulder. Sure enough, there on the left corner of her collar bone in the indent of her shoulder was the same mark. Something in his chest tightened, and against his better judgment, he let her draw closer to him, her arm wrapping around his waist. She gestured that he ought to follow her with a flick of her head, and he did; what other option did he have but follow the girl that seemed to have more information than he did.

"Why do you have the same mark as me?" he hissed, and the girl didn't seem inclined to respond, happy to lead him to more questions but absolutely no answers.

"I told you." Softly, her voice carried to his ears, a gentle lilt that sounded sing song despite the heavy accent. "I'm meant to be your Queen. Our mother told me this, and she never lies. Everything I was made to be was made to please you in the end."

"If I agree to take you as my queen, what could you bring to our union?" He found himself idly asking the girl who stared at him with wide, black eyes. He still didn't buy her story completely, and he was admittedly put off that she had called his mother her own, but he would let her talk herself into her own grave if she insisted. She innocently shied away, her full mouth opening from its pout.

Her dark head tilted, sending the long silky locks flying from their momentary coaxed submission in the wind and she struggled to fix it again over her shoulders and behind her ear to look impressionable enough to him, her fingers running rapidly through it, a few tendrils coming to hide her left eye. Long, tapered fingers raked it all back again, demanding order as she tucked it behind her ears, her eyes adverted.

Perhaps Chris had done right by her, forewarning her that she was not presentable. The raven- haired girl thought long and hard, contemplating her answer. Honesty was key here. She knew how Jonathan looked at her, recognized the mistrust reflected back at her, but she would gain his trust soon when he knew she was nothing but truthful with him.

She must think a good wife for him was a submissive wife, one that stood idly be rather than seizing the moment at hand.

Pulling from his side, she spun prettily in the moonlight, tilting her face to bask in the washed out light as she folded her arms around her back before tilting her face to the side and regarding him. When she turned back to gaze at his equally dark eyes again, hers pinched at the corners making her almond eyes even thinner, and a wide smile spread wickedly over her thick, red lips and a chill ran down his spine.

_**"I'd have them on their knees, begging for the end. No one **_would survive my_** endless wrath, **_and you,_** my king **_would be_** victorious."**_

Turning back, she descended the staircase and led him on further into the garden. She seemed genuine in her promises. Aline would reign down with madness but not much else. He doubted she, or any other person for that matter, would ever love him, though desire would keep her as rabid as ever.

She would try her damndest, however. Something about her just gave him that impression. Returning her wickedness, he smiled back at her, gesturing her forward.

"Come along then." he delegated, taking her hand in his larger one. Aline gave a murmur of ecstatic pleasure and fell against his side, lacing their fingers together. "We have a lot to catch up on."

_**XOX**_

"Where do you want to go?" Jace asked softly, once the door to the kitchen was shut and they were well on their way into the house. She looked ragged, and nearly out of breath when she twirled around to look at him with wide eyes.

"I thought you had a place in mind, Jace!"

Did she really just bail on her own party to stand around and do nothing?

Nothing with Jace, mind you, so that really wasn't nothing. Clary could manage herself oogling him for days without really minding it if she had nothing else to occupy her mind. She had sketchbooks of sketches full of him as her subject and even if he gave her nothing else, she would have some things to remember and draw later in the quiet of her room; the way the light had hit his hair alone, and that smug, knowing look he had shot her was enough to keep her content for weeks.

He had looked amazing tonight, strong and confident in a way she had only ever described her brother as. It made her heart tighten at the thought.

His jaw slackened, and his full lips fell apart drawing her undivided attention. What had she been thinking? She really hadn't the foggiest anymore and the longer that he stared at her with those warm, golden eyes, the further she lost control of herself.

"I figured you had something in mind worthier of your time and much more enjoyable than having the masses drool over your wealthy lifestyle." Jace admitted with a shrug and a gentle softness to his voice. He noticed the intensity of her eyes as they wandered with a purpose, "Though I can privately worship you, if that's what you'd like. But you do seem to have that skill mastered."

Shaking her head to clear the fog that had settled deeply in the cracks and crannies of her mind, she quirked an elongated eyebrow at him, "What?"

"Nothing, forget it." But it wasn't nothing. Clary had heard him quite well enough; it wasn't that kind of what.

Turning half around, she gave him a partially sheepish smile as her fingers closed, gently touching the top of his hand. Her touch shocked him, it must have, and he quickly withdrew, drawing away a few paces away as if she meant to harm him, which was utterly absurd.

Jump him, maybe.

Pushing down the brilliant blush that warmed her cheeks, Clary was thankful that the lights had been put out as a deterrent for wandering about their house besides the armed guards stationed along the perimeter of the interior rooms of the house. The ground floor was open to the guests, which meant she wanted as far away from that as she could, and upstairs would alert her father of her leaving early when one of the people playing security reported to him later.

That left somewhere outside. Taking his hand in hers, she tugged him towards the back door that led out towards the disarrayed garden out back.

"I suppose outside then." Softly she whispered as she tugged him quietly behind her, "You can _**worship**_ me there in peace then."

A devious smile was shot in his direction. Well that cleared things up rather easily. Following her, Jace hoped there would be some more of this enchanting banter. It was the most he could hope for, at least until he manned up enough to ask Valentine to court his wondrously gorgeous daughter.

The girl led him into the thriving ivy and wildflowers that her mother had erected years ago that had been long neglected, and had taken on part of the fence line against every attempt at eradication the gardener had gave. It seemed the perfect place to escape to, and would give her ample seclusion with her adopted brother.

Jace, like many other people that lived in their home at one point or another, had never ventured this far out in the yard. The young girl supposed it came down to being too close to Brocilind Plains and thus the forest just past its reaches. It was one of Clary's favorite spots, something that tied her to her mother, and she was glad to share this place with him.

Pulling back a low branch, she ducked inside to take up the continued spiraling path to the epicenter, where an outdoor pavilion had been erected with a gorgeous glass ceiling and an outdoorsy feel lent to it by the thick mound of ivy covering it like a grass hill.

"This place… My mother built it. Everything she ever owned and loved is out here." She hesitated in the newly revealed doorway, and looked to him for only a moment of idleness before explaining herself to him, and her green eyes seemed distant even though her voice was full of emotion, "Now, it really has everything she loves in it."

Once beneath its cover, Jace could only wonder how often Clary had disappeared here when no one could find her. He would have come here plenty himself, had he known that it existed before, and he had no emotional ties to the dead woman. But this place was still special to her. The thought of Jocelyn ever loving him escaped him. She seemed to prefer her wicked son over him time and time again, but Clary seemed so certain to bust her bubble on the matter.

The girl busied herself with lighting a pit near the center of the room, and the blaze rose up to warm and light the room only minutely with a promise to grow over time, and Jace took that moment to investigate. Paintings were leaned in clusters around pillars and each was free of dust and decay, meaning Clary took care of them all, looked at every last one of them. One in particular caught his attention, a childhood reminder of all the bitterness the woman seemed to hold for him, as a family portrait busted his prior thoughts on the woman.

"Do you mind?" Clary asked, her voice cracking slightly as she retrieved a blank sheeted book from a table beside the outdoor fainting couch as she sat down. She raised it as if the meaning out to be obvious, but he just stared at her as he settled down on the other side of the couch and tucked his legs up on the cushions in front of him and wrapped his arms loosely around his knees, "I mean, if I draw you?"

"Go ahead and knock yourself out."

Suddenly gleeful, he watched as she paged through a good quarter of the book full of sketches of him as the subject matter until at last the found a blank page and set to work beside him, staring at him alternatively as she tried to memorize everything.

"You can talk, you know."

Ah so he could. Looking around the room, he searched everywhere and anywhere for something to talk to her about. He barely knew her outside of how she trained and the kindness she treated him with. Honestly, he knew pretty much everything about anyone else in the family, but she somehow eluded him entirely. "Sooo you draw too. Do you think that's a genetic trait or did you pick it up from-"

"Why would you ask me to leave with you with no plan and nothing to talk about?" Clary shook her head and leaned back, glancing up at him to catch another detail of his serene face as she blocked it out better on the page. "It seems a bit rude, if you ask me."

"Because you're the prettiest girl I have ever met." Jace admitted after several moments of pregnant pause, looking away from her to the stars above that caste muted light on them before his throat closed up, effectively shutting him up before he made even more of a fool of himself.

"For a personal guard you really need to have a better set of lies to fall back on."

Turning back to her, he almost seemed desperate, and Clary looked back up at him as he seemed to whip back to look at her incredulously, "It's not a lie!"

"Prove it then." The book loosely fell from her hands to her lap and to the floor. "If it's not a lie, then prove idmmmh!"

Turning to look at him, Clary gasped as his lips pressed down on hers, his hand coming to cradle the back of her head lightly like it might snap off without him there to tenderly support it. She leaned in, settling all of her weight against his strong arm that come to rest behind her hips and the couch. Her legs parted so he might comfortably come closer to her, and her breath hitched when he did.

He drew away after a few moments, and she found herself leaning towards his lips as they moved out of reach. They glistened deliciously, and she couldn't help but run her finger over the plush flesh appreciatively. His forehead fell against hers and his breath came over her face face in delicate puffs that sent her into dizzy spirals. Her leg flexed at the side of his hips, and he could have groaned from the friction as she shifted against him.

"You should probably order me to stop, Lady Morganstern, before I take this too far."

His lips spoke a different language then his tongue did, apparently, and he delved down and kissed her again and again hungrily. Sighing into his mouth, Clary melted into his hold and involuntarily, her leg came to hold him in place above her. She met every kiss with just as much passion as he did and was already out of breath before their lips ever touched.

"And if that's exactly what I desire?"

"Then your wish is eternally my command."

They were so wrapped up in one another that neither heard the crunch of leaves that announced a new comer.

_**XOX**_

"Jace." Came a tort bark. The two whipped around to look up at the door sheepishly, like children with their hands in a cookie jar. Jace leapt away from her just as their brother stepped into a room, his shadow cast around the room, but it was too late. Jonathan stood with his arms folded over his chest- a sure sign that the boy was viciously angry if his face didn't say it well enough. He had seen everything.

The younger boy ran past him before the Morgenstern boy could do any damage to him, only to get cornered by the Mandarin girl just out the door. She grabbed hold of Jace, and shoved him back towards the scene he fled from before asking for direction.

"Jonathan?" her voice called and Clary stood up with confusion. Who had he brought here?

"It's fine, let him go." The boy responded, and Clary could only assume that whoever outside did as she was told.

"New boy toy, Little sister?" Jonathan's dark voice drawled from her fireside, gesturing to the boy being held outside. He bent before her to retrieve her sketch book, flipping through it appraisingly before smirking at the girl as it landed on one of the many sketches of the boy. His black eyes settled on her easily enough again, but the feeling unnerved her as the smile's malevolence did not lessen. "What, nerd boy not enough for you these days?"

His hand flicked the porous bound paper into the flames, and a noise of pain escaped her as she watched it go up in the blaze.

"What _**would **_our father say, if he were to know that you were _**consorting**_ with a _**servant**_?" looking around he laughed and gestured with an extended finger, "_**And here**_, in our mother's shrine no less."

"Leave off, Jonathan," Clary hissed, pushing past the boy as if he were barely worth her time. He already set fire to her sketchbook and now he dared to try to make her feel bad yet again, "He's as much our brother as he is your servant. You best watch your mouth before I find father and-"

A hand clamped down over her shoulder and slammed her back against the wall of ivy that she had previously been nearly halfway done parting so she could slip out the doorway.

"You might be his darling little girl, Clarissa, but I'll always be his first born, his son. Regardless of how he cares for that boy he brought into our house, how he adores that rat your fraternizing with and loves and coddles you, I will always come out on top."

He stood menacingly over her, his dark eyes shining brightly as he glared down at her. His face drew close enough that if it were anyone else, she might expect a romantic moment. In this, and everything he did, she expected violence and hatred, "Tell me Clary, how does he taste? Is it as pure and innocent as daddy makes him out to be, or is he poisonous? Do you feel him rotting out your very existence, your pure, unstainable soul?"

Clary found herself unable to respond, immobilized by her brother's larger form. She turned her face away from his, focusing sternly on a far- off spot through the smoke from her cindering book. He would not win this, no not this time. She was so sure of her strength in this decision that not even he would sway her now; Clary would have friends, actual friends, whether Jonathan liked it or not. His chest melted into hers, and she felt rather than saw his arm come up beside her head to cage her from slipping away from him.

"I feel him twisting out my heart every time he looks at you." His finger teased the hard line of her exposed collarbone where no mark had yet to grace the feminine curve of her flesh. Bumps rose in response and he watched, pleased as the path followed his hand like the grace of the plague following a single infected rat. His face was right in hers, keeping her attention from wandering too far as it often did, and his dark, angry eyes glared down at her as he pulled her off the wall and slammed her back again, rattling her head, "You forget so easily that he was my friend first. He was always meant to be my plaything, not yours Clary, and I am not about to give him up to you, regardless of either of your feelings. "

Breaking free, the girl pushed him away and broke past the wall of ivy, her hands tight in balled fists. She would have taken a swing had she thought it might do her any good, but instinct told her it would be futile.

Once outside, she caught sight of a dark haired girl standing on a rattan swing hanging beneath a tree but no sight of Jace. He must have taken his opportunity to flee to safety, much like she would now. Hastening her pace, she heard her brother call to her, but didn't stop to acknowledge him as she bolted for the house before he changed his mind about letting her go.

"You are both mine, Clary. Don't you dare forget that!"

_**XOX**_

"Clary!"

She hesitated for a moment, her head minutely twitching to the side as if she were about to turn and face her pursuer, before she doubled her speedy pace, forcing the once human boy to pick up speeds in hopes that he could reach her before she shut out the world. At least she seemed to have heard him this time, which was a start. That way, he could call her on it when he actually did catch her; now, or later if she managed to out run him, it wouldn't matter because she had responded and he knew she heard him. She was avoiding him. It seemed she was closing everyone off these days, whether in her own world or locked up in her room with her sketchbooks.

Turning the corner, she didn't even see him coming up behind her and gave a shrill noise when he wrapped his hand around the crook in her arm and spun her back around and pressed her back against the door in a single motion that almost got him decked.

In mid spin, she used the momentum to bring her right arm up and swung blindly for where she assumed the man that had grabbed her would have their face. She was growing so damn tired of being a plaything to her brother. What right did he have sauntering around the house and dragging people around whenever he pleased?

Her fist stopped only a millisecond away from his and she froze like a deer in the headlights, her large green eyes wide and bright as she let her hand drop limply to her side before falling against the cherry wood door behind her and slunk down the slab like she was melting between him and her nearly successful escape exit.

She had been so close too. Just a few more seconds and she would have found herself safely in her own room, a few more and in bed. Her eyes fluttered shut and she slammed her head back into the door, restlessly and annoyed. Why couldn't these people just leave her alone? Was it really that difficult to leave her be for a few moments of peace and quiet? All she wanted was to crawl under the covers and hide away. Why-

Why was Simon just staring at her?

Leaning against the door frame, Simon tilted his head against the forearm that made contact with the cool trim along the door and his hand splayed right above her head. She was effectively trapped now and from this close, he could see that she was near tears or had been crying only a few moments prior. She looked weary as well, bone weak, and if she had actually had hit him, the worst she would have done was some mild bruising. His eyes darted this way and that, calculating possibilities of what had upset her this time, but even he could see now a line of bruises that were blossoming along the crook where he had just grabbed her. A sad smile passed over his lips as he tried to console her with just his presence, and his hand came up to run gently along the stitch of her dress's bodice along her spine.

She didn't have time for this. Simon's problems in life were afterthoughts of her own, and what she dealt with now was so much bigger than anything else she had to. Her parabatai ceremony was closing in now, and while it hadn't been heavily on her mind before, it was now. She had let her father sweep her up in the romanticism of being tied, of having that other pure half to fall back on that she hadn't spoken up at all when they shoved her and Izzy together, even if it made sense for them to have chosen each other; Isabelle was her sister and friend, comrade and eldest confidant. She trusted the girl with her life, and they would always be close, but not close enough for Clary to call her the other half of her soul.

The stress of the next hurdle in her life was only the tip of the iceberg. Her heart was swelling with excitement and turmoil and worry and joy, and everything in her coiled so tightly and collided so hard with each other that she thought she might burst, like the butterflies in her stomach had been strapped down with fireworks. This was the most horribly wonderful news she had ever received in her life. Jace _**loved**_ her. It hadn't been said, not in so many words, but he was at least infatuated with her, and she worried for him now. Her brother was very possessive over his people, and even sharing them among his family didn't seem too likely.

For everything wrong in her life, something equally good stood at its side, but every decision she made seemed to bite the people she loved in the ass. Silently, she tried to pull away from the tall boy leaning in front of her. For him, at least, she could pull away and reduce his heart ache. She could save him from the pain that would be dealt to him in time for allying himself to her. "Just let me go SI-"

"No."

Looking up at him, her eyelashes fluttered. "What?"

"I said no." Pushing off the door frame, he loomed over her, half bent as he pulled away from her and shoved his hands angrily into his pockets, "You don't get the option of telling me to leave off every time you have a spat with someone else, and you especially don't get away with trying to knock my teeth in without an explanation."

Exasperated, she pushed off of the door, coming to stand threateningly on her tiptoes. It was sort of cute, Simon thought, that she imagined herself to be at all threatening. She pressed upward as far as she could stand in her heels, and only came to glare up at him about a foot too short to be reasonably worrisome for him, "I wasn't trying to knock your teeth in!"

The girl wobbled, and the brown- eyed boy steadied her with a strong arm strategically placed at her hip, shooting down any and all validity of her vehemence.

"So is that how were greeting each other now? Did I miss the memo?" Raising his arm in a mocking sort of motion, a maid passing in the hallway made her presence known with a disapproving noise that escaped from deep within her chest; if she had any say over him, Clary was sure the elder woman would have scurried over here to tell Simon what was what, but as it were, the woman just scurried off spinelessly, shaking her head. Probably too good too, because she would have been severely punished if Jonathan had come up here then and found anyone but his family in their wing of the house. Never mind how his bed showed up neat and tidy every time he returned to it without ever lifting a single finger to make it, that had to be magic.

Shaking her head, she pressed back into the door, even more exhausted than before as she came to terms that she had to get rid of her friend fast on top of dealing with whatever his problem was right now. "What do you _**want **_Simon?"

"What do you really want for your birthday, Clary?" Simon found himself asking her softly. It wasn't important, and not why he had come and tracked her down, but he needed to defuse the tension floating between them. Her eyes creased and she tilted her head in confusion. Obviously he was not the only one surprised by the question. His unoccupied hand caught her elbow, and the pressure made her pause. It slid down the length to her wrist and he turned her tiny, delicate hand in his so that their fingers could interlock loosely. Her green eyes followed his hand and when he linked his digits with hers, she tightened them, locking them together as she fixated on how it felt to hold his hand.

Jonathan's was always scorching to the touch, and Jace's she found was reasonable warm to the point of comforting. Simon had never held her hand before, but now that he had, the sense of ease had washed over her, like nothing else would matter at least for this moment, and she didn't want to let him go. His pulse lulled hers down from its erratic tempo, and her palm cooled to his slighter temperature as she eased into the calmness he exuded.

His thumb played softly along the back of her middle finger where she had worn the Morgenstern ring heavily, the only movement besides their heartbeats between them. "I don't buy that shit that you want some shiny ring or a pretty dress, not in the slightest. You're _**nowhere **_near _**that**_ vain. So what is it Clary? I don't have much, but I will do everything in my power to make it happen for you. You _**know**_ that…"

Simon watched her silently, feeling like they had lived this moment a million times before. Clary was always the light in the darkness and he had depended on that strength and illuminating character to help him through on a daily basis. But she was so weak now, like a flickering candle flame, so near going out by the weakest of winds. She floundered for a moment, and after a few long moments of perturbed silence, let go of the door handle behind her that she had initially intended to disappear behind, and fell against it as she drew the boy closer to her in a single armed hug that left her face buried in his chest, and Simon awkwardly looming before her. His other hand came up to warmly cup her jaw and her face raised at last to look at him again; the brown eyes that met hers were searching and pleading, and the most comforting thing she had known since her mother's arms. Her eyes went from his warm ones to the hallway around them, thinking on what it appeared they were doing. Anyone that might have passed in the hall now would talk, oh how they would talk. This looked absolutely scandalous, even more so then being found by her brother with their adopted brother; this boy was practically her servant. "Please Si, come inside. This isn't-"

"Tell me here, it's not like it's-"

"Simon-"

"Clary! Just tell me, what is it?"

The girl's lips pursed tightly and she drew her bottom lip in and worried it with her teeth. It came down to dissatisfaction; she had always had everything she wanted and more in the way of materialistic things, but in the end she valued her relationships above all else. It was one of many things that brought the two of them together. She loved Simon as she loved Isabelle and Alec, Jonathan and Jace, and perhaps even her father whom she had once held above all others. What she desired could not be simply gifted to her, and her best friend understood that, stood by that. But this was a very special day in her life, and as her closest friend, she understood his need to mark the occasion; he had been dismissed from attending her dance despite any stand on the matter she gave, he had lost her after breakfast to her oaf of a brother who simply made things worse, to Isabelle when she fled from Jonathan and her home, and again when she had left the party to Jace. It occurred to her that the only opinion she had ever asked any of them was trivially small things.

But Simon she had shared everything with. He was her best friend. Tilting her head to the side she watched him, amazed as the worry blossomed across his face. She knew now what he would be to her, even if he hadn't the foggiest, and her hand involuntarily tightened again and the arm slung around his waist drew her all the more closer so that they stood almost melded together.

"_**Be my parabatai."**_

It was so soft, almost a purr really, that the boy almost thought he had heard things. Looking at her, however, he knew for certain that she had spoken and the way she watched him coyly from behind half lidded eyes he also could wager that this was the first honest thing, probably the first selfish thing she had desired and she had ever outright asked for. He made her selfish. The thought was humbling enough to floor him for several moments and she pulled her hand from his and pulled away from his chest to wrap her arms around her waist. She probably thought he already rejected her.

"Traditionally, shouldn't you be on your knee when you ask for my hand?" Simon couldn't help it, and the girl looked at him incredulously.

She backhanded his shoulder, knowing what he played at. He could only smile, and it was infectious as it spread like wildfire, igniting her entire face. Maybe she _**was**_ serious.

"What about Izzy?" he found himself questioning, his thoughts turning to the voluptuous diva that had lived her life striving towards what Clary now offered him so willingly. He doubted the girl had thought about her female friend's feelings, and though he and Isabelle didn't see eye to eye where the girl was involved, they were still close, if not for Clary's happiness.

"What about her?"

If not for Clary, he doubted she would have ever gave him the time of day, but it was just how girls like her were- total bitches that were so self- absorbed that they couldn't even tell that the people she surrounded herself with looked to her facetiously.

But really, he did care what she felt in the long run. They were intertwined somehow, and they wouldn't be apart. Their lives had collided for good, he was sure of it. "It just doesn't seem fair to her, does it? She's been living her entire life to be the best match for you, and here at just shy of a month you go and give someone else what she's dreamed of all her life."

"You asked me what _**I**_ wanted, Simon. That was the honest answer_**. I want you to be my Parabatai.**_ Either you want it too, and we seal this right now, or you walk away." She nudged the door open and stepped backward with a wide, bouncing step. Her stance was a bit flirtatious but not in a lewd way, and she leaned into the room, her hips swaying as if she was contemplating his options for him. She challenged him silently, making him step up the game and take her on head first. "Please Si, don't over think this."

As if he had any other choice but to follow her blindly, like the lost little lamb that he was. Stepping over the threshold, his eyes raked up her tiny form, from the wrinkled gown, up to the arms she clasped across her chest, to the blossoming breasts that nearly spilled from her tight bodice and finally to the wicked little grin she smirked at him with, claiming her victory as her head tilted off to the side.

The girl went past him to her beside before turning and circled around him once slowly like a predator, and he did his best to keep his gaze trained on her as she swept around him. Her hand caught his right one and forced her stele into it. Confused, he watched her as she let his hand go expectantly.

"_**Entreat me not to leave thee, or return from following after thee. For whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge-" **_

"Clary _**stop**_ that. Once you say it, the oath is final-"

She shook her head and grabbed hold of his right hand again, and Simon realized she had meant to block his only exit the whole time. With a single short tug, the stele was just south of the crease of her elbow, swirling upward before he could stop it, and her skilled hand had half the rune carved before he knew what was going on, playing him like a puppet with her expertly taught hand.

"Thy people shall be my people, and thy _**God my God**_. Where thou _**diest, will I die**_, and there will I be buried. The Angel, do so to me and more also, if _**aught but death**_ part thee and me."

Her grasp tightened on his wrist, her breath baited as she gasped out the last of the ritual, and she forced his hand to finish its mark, much deeper than he would have done it on his own as he began to struggle against her and Clary's wide eyes fluttered shut when it was at last done, pulling her arm back to her side anxiously.

Simon seemed furious, but not all of it was directed at her. Good, she would gladly take his upset and everyone else's fury as well if it meant they belonged to each other.

"Clary you have _**no idea**_ what _**you've just done**_." Simon admonished, taking a step back. He knew her, inside and out, loved even the darkest part of her, but he didn't understand this desperation, this suddenness. His hand hung limply at his side and he could feel his entire body shaking. They could both be punished for this, the probability leaning away from definite only because of who she was the daughter of. "These bonds are meant to be performed before the Clave, the sanctity of our elders and our people, _**we have no right**_-"

"You're right." She held up her hand, silencing him. She knew what he would say before he said it. "But it has not always been this way. The first bonds were made by the melding of souls, and you are my other half Simon Lewis."

He didn't appear to be getting it. His hesitation bothered her minutely, but she understood it. She was who she was, the daughter of their leader, and master of his household, and Simon was who he was. He had only survived so far because of his ability to think straight, to find the best way out and for her fealty to protect him and keep him safe. In the wilderness or here that fact was very much the same.

"_**And it came to pass... that the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul... Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul." **_ Clary whispered, her eyes falling shut. She needn't site history on him, but it made her point quite clear as her fingers ran down the front of her bodice, unclipping each of the toggles. They clicked open with a soft snapping noise and it drew the brown eyed boys attention from her full red lips to her exposed, pale skin.

"_**And there has never been anyone for me, but you Simon." **_Her long fingers traced over the most permanent of marks caste over her flesh, the first of many he would ever inscribe on her. "Your soul is my soul and your flesh is my flesh. From now until the end of eternity, mark or no mark, my oath will ring true. There will be no one for me but you, Simon. Don't feel pressured into this Si. Between the two of us you always were the more level headed. You should take the time you need to come to terms with this."

The girl leaned forward, pressing a warm kiss to his cheek, and Simon leaned into it, wishing beyond hope that for once in his life that it meant more than it actually did. Clary drew away almost as quickly as she had come near, and adverted her gaze as she backed away.

"I'm going to bed now, but feel free to join me," turning, she began stripping each and every layer off of her dress as she walked until all that remained was her undergarments- a strapless, black slip with a lacy frill along the top and he could only assume panties beneath that.

She paused and looked upward as she pulled out the long- worked on hairstyle, and spun the curls as she released them as she thoughtfully wondered on the likelihood that he would join her. It was up for grabs at the moment, but she wouldn't be going to bed alone for sure; one of the three boys would be sure to crawl in after her. As an afterthought, she looked back and made him very aware that reality, "Before someone else does."

Simon watched her as she crawled under the covers to lay on her right side, careful of the new mark that stood out starkly on her pale flesh and the dark sheets, still in her ebony slip and undergarments, and exhaustively he considered leaving. Without a matching mark, he could be Scott- free.

But somehow that didn't sit well with the boy. Her oath was binding and permanent. Now that his mark was on her and she had spoken her oath there was little that could be done unless he destroyed the mark, which though an option, was not one he wanted to consider. The promise was honest, and he found himself agreeing with it selfishly. He wanted this, more than anything else, even returning home to see his family back in New York to find them healthy and well.

Looking to the stele in his hand, Simon made his way back to the bed. She was out like a light already, her face at ease and her hair gently lying around her.

There was very little room for him facing her, so he took the spot behind her, spooning her awkwardly from behind as he fumbled the stele back into her hand and tried not to otherwise disturb her. She did not wake happily once she was down, and mark or no mark he had no doubt that she would end him.

He would tell her in the morning that he agreed, and he would let her mark him as her own

Gently, he tugged her hair from her delicate ear and his face came to rest right at her lobe, and the warm breath panted over her cheeks to flutter her eyelashes delicately. "Entreat me not to leave thee, or return from following after thee. For wherever thou goest, I have gone, and where thou lodgest, I have lodged. Thy people have been my people, and thy _**God is my God**_. Where thou _**diest, will I die**_, and there will I be buried. By the Angel, do so to me and more also, if _**aught but death**_ part thee and me."

A sharp pain in his wrist made him give out a weak noise, and the boy raised it from her waist to inspect it; a comparably similar mark as the one on her arm adorned the soft flesh at the base of his forearm and blood trickled from one of the edges as if cut too deeply. Shifting up, he glanced at the girl in bed with him, to the content smile she wore.

"You-"

"Weren't asleep? Really now Si, you ought to know by now I prefer staying up all night. I was giving you time. I didn't expect you to go throwing yourself at me the moment I went to bed."

"Trust me, your virtue is very much still intact." Playfully, he fell back to the mattress, curling closer around her, as Simon gently touched the matching mark that now glared up at him on the inside of her delicate elbow. The heated skin seemed to soothe at the connection and a soft groan escaped her, as she pressed herself backward into his chest and nuzzled the pillows with a small sigh. Sleep was ebbing at the corners of his cognitive thoughts, and a startling thought shook him from drifting all the way off, warm and cozy in the plush bed. His voice came out strained and rough, a quiet grumble that shook her lightly, "You chose me."

The realization finally dawned on him, and he was suddenly wide awake despite the long day he had been a part of.

"Go to _**bed Simon**_."

He obeyed, simply to give the impression that she still had the upper hand. Closing his eyes, he let the knowledge that he had won her favor over that of Isabelle Lightwood, monster- killing and fashionista extraordinaire. He'd hold that over her later, once he knew he was out of the woods on this matter.

They fell asleep, curled against one another, for once pleasantly content and at ease, despite the boisterous sounds of the party downstairs in the hall, and the thousands of people milling about their home, taking in everything but seeing absolutely nothing.

_**XOX**_

Silently the troop funneled in through the hall window. They moved in synchrony, the three men and a slight woman with curled, wispy black hair cropped jaggedly around her face and shoulders. She gestured, her hands making a movement that directed that they ought to go down the hall to the right, signaling each move they would make, and they broke from the wall, blending into the shadows that the abandoned hall gave.

With a delicate move, a blade slid along the lock and the barrel gave way.

They were in and out within minutes with their collected abductees situated against the largest among them, the slight, bound forms of the children slew over one shoulder and tucked beneath his armpit.

Indeed, no one would guess what had happened here.

On the way out, the woman tapped her hand against a canister, spreading a dried powder behind them, smearing the door handle as well as their paths.

With that, they leapt each in turn from the open window, taking off towards the woods from which they had come. By time anyone realized what happened they would be out of reach.

_**XOX**_

_**Author's Note:**_

_**I would be lying if I said I was sorry for the length.**_

_**I'm not, but I did try to shave down a few thousand words between Aline and Jonathan's walk to the pavilion, another adventure to Valentines office and a bit of the party.**_

_**Even still, this was deliciously wonderful to write.**_

_**I want to also apologize that these past 2 chapters weren't as timely as my normal ones. Aside from just being busy, I also have to admit that I've been writing waaaay ahead of myself, simply because I really wanted to get to that part. If I could, I would portal you all to that chapter, so you can all share the good vibes from it, but alas, it's no good. I can't teleport you there yet, because way too much needs to happen before its time.**_

_**It also took me too long to write up the interactions with Simon and Clary, but it wasn't lack of inspiration. There were three different scenarios that I wrote about 2k of, just to get a feel of where they could go, and this one won out. It just opened up a whole bunch of plot possibilities, and I feel that it shows what kind of position Clary was put into, that she would rather force herself to have no Parabatai at all then to be forced together with Isabelle. **_

_**In no way am I saying Isabelle isn't/ wasn't worthy of that position. She's just not the Soul Mate for Clary. Simon has that written all over his cute little Jewish Face. **_

_**On a side note, for those curious, one of Christopher Wayland's faults is that he's too honest, almost shoving truth down his own throat and others, whereas Isabelle is not, in fact I think she's very good at half- truths and outright lies. Just something to keep in mind for the future.**_

_**I hope there's no one too upset that I changed the Parabatai Oath on Simon's side. I just felt like it would either be said together in the ritual, or in turns. Possibly changed, like I had done. With Clary forcing their hands, it left it to the last choice, and as I read the Oath at first, I thought the resounding response was better. "Your people have been my people, and thy God is my God" seemed to double in meaning from Simon as well; he lost his family, his home, everything, when Maryse and Valentine's army took him from New York, and now pretty much everything of Clary's has become his. He owns nothing, but her now. Maybe it's just me; I just preferred it this way.**_

_** Didi: Thanks for reading! And Buon giorno! Honestly I like the lack of recognition between Jace and Clary. It comes down to the fact that he's just starting to hit puberty, as is she, and they will continue to start recognizing and affirming that they are attracted to each other. Jonathan is ignoring her because he's found himself a scapegoat for his use instead of his sister, and is trying his best to be a good brother as well as maintaining the idealistic image that he's in control of himself and there's nothing wrong with him, which there is. But Clary's about to get her own little adventure, just you wait!**_

** Lauren: It's not necessarily that Jonathan has done anything in particular to Isabelle, but their natures match and swing away from each other pretty erratically with how Isabelle is feeling. In particular, this moment of misconnection came from a mixture of things, one Jonathan using her, which she initially approved of because of the connection they had at breakfast, and the fact that he gives her no second thought, throwing every energy and affection at his sister. For her, she thought she had struck a chord with him, piqued his interest, and then nothing. But he runs out and spends a fortune on his sister for a single- time worn dress? It would piss any woman off Isabelle just happens to be more volatile.**

**I also had intended for Jace to outright ask for Clary, but I felt like he ought to be spineless. Being raised beside Jonathan and Clary with Valentine as his only parental figure, I feel like he would lack that strong of a charisma with people, and especially the ability to just outright say things that would probably get him locked up in jail. He wants Clary, but survival is Key. You can always just wait for the old man to croak and kill off the competition later. So to speak. No worries, however. Jace will get several more chances in the future.**

**I also want to thank you for sticking with me from the get go. I know personally how hard it is to start up with a new story, AND always be there to give support and love to every chapter, so again, thank you so much Lauren.**

**Love also goes out to Inalim, and my2guys who have reviewed multiple times.**

**All of my reviewers rock! **

**If you like it Review, Fave, Follow.**

**So much love to my readers.**

**Till Next Time**

**TAORI**


	8. How Do I Love Someone?

_**Momma never told me how to love**__**  
**__**Daddy never told me how to feel**__**  
**__**Momma never told me how to touch**__**  
**__**Daddy never showed me how to heal**_

_**Momma never set a good example**__**  
**__**Daddy never held momma's hand**__**  
**__**Momma found everything hard to handle**__**  
**__**Daddy never stood up like a man**_

_**I've walked alone, broken**__**  
**__**Emotionally frozen**__**  
**__**Getting it on**__**  
**__**Getting it wrong**_

_**How do you love someone**__**  
**__**Without getting hurt**__**  
**__**How do you love someone**__**  
**__**Without crawling in the dirt**_

_**So far in my life**__**  
**__**Clouds have blocked the sun**__**  
**__**How do you love, how do you love someone**__**  
**__**How do you love, how do you love someone**_

_**I was always the chosen child**__**  
**__**The biggest scandal I became**__**  
**__**They told me I'd never survive**__**  
**__**But survival's my middle name**_

_**I have never considered myself a lucky woman. Everything I have received in my life, I have had to work hard for and justly earn, and despite the hierarchy I was born into, I always dove head first into my own personal progression. I never wanted to have anything pushed on me, and so I struggled to be worthy and earn everything I received. I supposed that that was what first had attracted my husband to me. **_

_**My parents had raised me to be a good girl, to uphold morals and be true to the Clave. It was something I tried to instill in you, in Jonathan and Jace, Clary, even if I dropped the ball early on you. I was told that all life was worthwhile, and that it should be taken away with great mourning. **_Even Demons had a reason for being in their world_**, your grandparents reasoned with everything they had, to anyone that would listen with unheard clearness that didn't seem to reach the masses at all, and I strived to protect and defuse, not destroy.**_

_**That was, of course, until I met Valentine. **_

_**The boy spoke so surely of the injustice they suffered living among Down- worlders, and unlike my parents, he had a charisma that seemed to take hold of people, to turn their ears whether they were willing to listen or not.**_

_**Everyone heard him. Everyone believed.**_

_**In him. In his cause. In his words.**_

_**I couldn't help but believe him as well, and though I personally never acted on the changes his words wrought in me, many did. Few in school avoided him, claiming that he was wickedly hateful and his methods would only end in disaster. Among them, was my one of my closest friends Madeleine Bellefleur, who did her best to dissuade me from following the pretty face she was sure covered pure evil.**_

_**When he had first approached me, however, I could only swoon over the thought that I had piqued his interest. Now, I understood otherwise. Now, I wish that I could have listened to the good advice those few people like Madeleine had given me freely, or perhaps give a spot of my own to my younger self. Perhaps that would have saved our family such heart ache.**_

_**We married early in our relationship, to my parents' dismay, and your father moved into their home immediately. I supposed that it was to be expected at the time; my boyfriend and then husband had been orphaned when his father had been killed by a werewolf pack and his mother committed suicide soon after, a fact that they had tried very hard to keep hushed up. With no home to call his own, my parents would not have left the boy to the streets, not when money was so plentiful. Your grandfather had followed in the steps of his forefathers before him and took up the Consul position, a role that brought him great joy, and he was lawfully good, just as all the Fairchild's were. **_

We are born _**good**_, Clary, baptized at birth, and our family strives to remain pure.

_**I weep over the sinfully evil child I bore, the good boy I lost before I could ever hold.**_

_**Everything Jocelyn Morgenstern ever received in life, she had to work for. The loss of my children was no different. I tried to love both of them, the monster and my dead baby that lay behind his eyes, but it was no use. I knew he was not my child, no matter how hard I tried.**_

I scorn the very name Morgenstern; I remain a Fairchild now to this day.

Like the namesake, the entire lot are wicked, spiteful creatures.

_**I saw what kind of person your father had become, how every day the boy I loved with all my heart deteriorated and the obsessive man that desperately clung to his unjust hatred took his place. I still love your father, but the man that has replaced him I do not.**_

_**He has done too much, too many unforgivable things.**_

_**He walked Lucian, his parabatai and our closest friend to his death in the woods and when he returned to us alive but a lycanthrope, was told to commit suicide, a fact that had been presented to me much differently, only because I carried our first child and your father feared that a blunt truth might shake me too much. **_

_**This, too, I wish I had seen the signs.**_

_**Instead, I stayed at my husband's side, mourning the loss of my dearest friend. It wasn't until I had stumbled upon your father's darkest little secret in the basement that I understood anything.**_

_**He had managed to tie an angel to the earth, one whom had been sent to smite him. It was an evil deed to taint one of Raziel's children, and for that, I'm sure Ithuriel would have smote him where he stood. Heaven was surely wrathful, and perhaps if he had succeeded in cutting down your father he would have been able to finish the deed that I could not.**_

_**Valentine was prepared however. Like in Milton's '**__**Paradise Lost' **__**the lesser Seraph found your father with a woman lending him her ear, but it was no one as innocent as Eve, but rather the first wife. He had earned the favor of Lilith by giving her a child of her own, albeit one that was born by me, but with her blood in his veins it was enough. She lent him the knowledge of how to trap and keep her former brethren, and the outcome did not end well for the poor angel.**_

_**I found him there, shortly after Jonathan was born. He cried a song of agony, and tried to reach out for me, to feel a tender hand in his otherwise cruel existence. If I could have, I would have killed him then. It would have been merciful, and his wish. It was the least I could have done, knowing that the madman that kept him bound was so intimately tied to me. He terrified me, and for nearly a month I succeeded in pretending that he had not existed. But nightly he cried out, so like I had imagined my unborn baby would do, and I could do nothing but listen to it tear me out on the inside.**_

_**Instead, he remained there, with occasional visits from your father, and stolen moments with me, when I would tell him of the world beyond, of the children borne of his kin and the goodness of it all. I had to give him hope if nothing else. Not everything was lost to him.**_

_**In turn he told me of you, and the blood in you sang out to him. **_

_**He gave me dreams of a beautiful little girl that would burn out the darkness of my first child. She was everything I wanted, everything I dreamed of, and she would be mine. I just had to have her first**_

_**I knew before he told me of the journals what you were, and I vowed to see you safe. Valentine and his monster would not harm you if I could help it. You were an accident, Valentine's gravest mistake, but he would not steal a second child from me. I would not allow it.**_

_**My love, my light. You were my everything.**_

_**Just as Ithuriel had so named you, you were my brightest star.**_

_**It killed me to have left you behind, but I could not take you, not then. You would not have been safe with me.**_

_**Even now, I worry I can do little to protect you and your brother.**_

_**XOX**_

Johnathan felt alive, perhaps more vibrant than he ever had, actually. After the run in with his sister and his pet, he had thought the night was shot. The dark- eyed girl, however, had other plans. They had wandered, aimlessly, telling harmless tales that neither thought said too much about themselves but in reality, spoke much more. What they said, what they chose not to reveal, echoed deeply in each, and without saying it, they understood what was not said. It was hours before the girl felt she had revealed too much and fell silent and took a detour. She dragged him towards the winding plains and invoked a hunting game that he felt he was very much outmatched at. She was obviously a much better hunter, having raised herself in the wilderness, and she had strategizing down to a t because of her lifestyle as well. His pulse thrummed beneath his skin, vibrating with the electricity running along his veins. His mouth was parched but he couldn't care less, and found himself bounding faster after the girl who egged him on.

"Oh come on already. You can't possibly be that slow!"

She was fast, faster than even he could remember seeing anyone being, and he hoped she would lose this whirlwind of energy so he might have a chance of catching up. How he hated losing.

Turning, she hesitated as she took a step back, her head quizzically falling to the side. Her half- knotted hair fell over her face mildly comically, and would have endeared her to him he had no doubt had they been anyone else. "_**You are?**_ Why didn't you ask me to slow down? How am I to know how fast Shadow hunters are that have never had to run for their lives?"

Instead of an answer, he stayed mute as he passed her by. He didn't need her to insult him, he had his father for that. She fell easily in line and her hand sought out his, linking together to try to keep him close and not of any affection for the boy. She pressed herself close to him, and her shorter head fell against his shoulder sharply, like she was trying to melt against him

Glancing down at the fingers that linked around his that fell right against her hip, Jonathan compared the tiny, cool hand that held his to his sister's warm one, like her blood could boil away the wickedness inside of him. He didn't dislike Aline's hand, but it was unfamiliar and uncomforting, almost controlling in the way it maneuvered in his.

His gaze must have given her the wrong idea. It lingered too long, and the girl drew herself closer to him yet, and they paused beneath the canopy of the trees at the outskirts of the Brocilind Plains. The moon caught in her depth- less shadows of her eyes, illuminating the starkness between her sclera and iris and the light played with the shadows of her face, striking her like the lovelorn child she was. Her hands tentatively captured his face neatly, her thumbs stroking along his chin as she drew up, pressing her thick lips to his, and for a moment he almost forgot who was innocently kissing him, as the girl's fingers curled at the base of his neck.

He let her kiss him, let her try her best to win him over, but it was a battle that she was slated to lose.

She was not Clary. He had to remind himself of that. She couldn't be expected to be anything like her, rather her opposite. He knew that Aline was born with the same blood as he; it's why he needed to know her. But he had never expected to be tied to her, to grow together. His motives had nothing to do with reproduction and romance and love. His needs stemmed from the loneliness of being the only creature on earth like him, with no one to truly understand him.

He loved his sister. From head to toe, from hard glare to every stolen glance, she was everything he wanted, everything he needed. He kept his distance to save her the heartache. He loved her that much.

Shoving the girl off of him, he could feel the upset in her form as she forcefully let him go, reaching up to touch her mouth.

"I have to go."

Aline looked at him hurt, confusion creasing her face as she tried to make amends with her body and tried to draw him into her arms. She thought she had done something wrong. But hadn't she? How dare she try to move in on him? Didn't she understand that human hearts were possessive, and his already held on to another?

"I'm sorry I have to split. We're expected to be very punctual for meals. As it is I'm a quarter late."

The girl just did not understand. As he went to move away, she chased after. Reaching into his pocket, the white haired boy retrieved his pocket watch and held it out to her.

"Time- it's how we mark aging and the days passing by. Those hands go around twice a day, once for daylight, and the other night. At this hand, and that one above it, I have a meal with my family. I have to be there, it's expected of me."

"Why would you allow such a thing such power over you?" Her face skewed up and as he left she tried to follow, "Surely it cannot make you happy. It appears to be such a hindrance."

"Because were expected to be meticulous. It's what separates us from the beasts we hunt. You were never taught that, though, were you?" Scoffing at her, he laughed as he turned, leaving the watch in her hands. "Meet me at the third quarter, the second time it passes, here."

Softly, she nodded in agreement, before simply falling to the ground where he indicated.

At least she would still be there later.

_**XOX**_

_**When you were naught but a child, you knew nothing of good and evil. You understood blood was blood, and for that it made you a better person than I. But still you cried, oh how you cried, but you made no attempt to stop him.**_

The toddler turned, smiling wickedly as his little hand swiped the blood around his lips into his open mouth. His eyes were brighter than they once had been and he seemed wickedly pleased with himself. He bit down on her a second time, and the little girl simply whimpered in response, pushing back on the larger body on top of her and holding it close at the same time.

_**I pulled you from him. What else could I do? I could not let him take advantage of you, could not let him break you.**_

_**That was the first of many times I broke the two of you up, but you seemed to be content in being defiled, in receiving his perverse love.**_

"You mustn't rile your brother Clary." Jocelyn reprimanded softly as her hands smoothed her daughter's soft hair. Unlike her own, Clary's hair was wavy rather than taught curls that she had, perhaps the only trait she had gotten from Valentine, the softness like silk that shone brightly. Everything else about her sang of her mother's delicate grace, making her a near younger replica of herself. Even her temper and fiery nature called Jocelyn's attention to their likeness. The temper however was doubly a tribute from both parents and as such, her mother knew that nothing good could come of her being so wound up.

_**Knowing as I did what my son was, what you were, I tried my best to keep you apart, to raise you as two separate projects, but had always known that Johnathan was nothing but a monster **__**and**__** could have no hope but pray that you lived through every upstart the two of you might had.**_

_**XOX**_

_**The miracle came that your father had never witnessed the rampaging fights between you two, the viciousness that sent me running in the night for anyone that could help. **_

One night, on Clary's sixth birthday, was especially horrid. Jonathan had grabbed hold of her and had dragged her much smaller body beneath him. As he choked her, the girl had begun crying, which spurred him on to tighten his fists over her tiny neck and nothing could pull him off of her. One of the maids had tried, desperately, only to find that his hands were like iron fast to the column beneath her chin. Once she was about to black out, something overtook her and she touched her brother's forehead with an outstretched palm. The boy swooned as soon as she touched him, and black blood spewed from his lips as he coughed harshly.

Jocelyn had witnessed it all as she rushed in to wrench the two children apart. Clary had stood, crying as her brother continued to wretch out the putrid blood that beat through his veins.

Clary had been beside herself with worry. The whole idea of it seemed absurd. Her brother had nearly killed her, and yet she was worried for his safety, if he would be all right.

Perhaps there was something human in him after all.

And her daughter was the only one to see it.

_**XOX**_

_**Your love never did know its bounds either. You were convinced, Clary, that he was the only love you would ever have. I hope that's not the case. I hope you grew up and knew real love and returned it. **_

_**Jonathan mutilated the emotion in you so early I fear that it might corrupt all of your relationships, and perhaps that is my fault as much as your fathers.**_

"Jonathan says I can marry him when we get older. We can be like you and daddy." The young girl pulled up the dress she had found, pressing it to her tiny waistline. She seemed so happy by the idea, and as she hugged the soft fabric to her abdomen, Jocelyn could see the brightness of her pleasure blossoming across her face, illuminating her youthful face.

Mortified, Jocelyn rounded on her daughter, snatching her golden wedding dress from the child's grasp. She could see the upset as she did it, but she needed to put her daughter in her place before this went too far, "You will do no such thing!"

Children often dressed up in their parents' clothes, so it wasn't that she had delved into her wardrobe. No, it was that her beloved child spoke of binding herself to that… _**thing.**_

Hushing the girl. Jocelyn pulled her into her arms as the girl began to shake, sobs racking through her as she choked on her cries.

_**You were a child born to love. We had no place keeping you from other children.**_

_**It is my own blame if I find you at all unhappy in the end.**_

_**XOX**_

Jonathan could have sworn at himself. True, he had been mad at Clary the night before, but he'd been madder at Jace and had taken it out on his younger sister. He had not expected her to retaliate and lock her window, however, which they both knew she kept open so he could just slip outside the balcony and into her room whenever he pleased.

His was locked too, which meant that she had purposefully went out of her way to keep him out, or Jace had acted out on his own.

Fine. He'd punish them both for it later.

And so the boy was left with the way he had left last night. Sure enough, the door was unlocked as it too always way, and he walked in expecting an eerie calm to have settled in the hallway, as servants scurried about to avoid him.

The door swung open to expose chaos. There were masses running everywhere, true, but not from him. They were scouring the entire house, searching for something desperately.

Stepping in among the masses, the boy felt oddly discomforted by their lack of acknowledgement. He had not intended on spending the entire night out, but it had happened. Surely someone should have noticed, if not ratted him out.

Moving with the group, he joined in, curious as to what they looked for, completely unaware of a shadow that fell upon his back. The maids moved to the kitchen, running their fingers on the window lines and inspecting them each to find nothing to be found. Others ran in and out of rooms testing the door handles, the windows there.

It was as if they were looking for anything and everything that someone could have touched.

Passing the staircase to go upstairs, he saw even more covering the staircase, leaving no inch un- turned.

What were they looking for, ants? Roaches? Rodents?

A noise behind him instantly sent him into a still panic, and he froze, waiting for the inevitable.

He'd been caught red handed sneaking around the house.

"Johnathan Christopher Morgenstern," the brutish baritone of his father snarled, involuntarily making the boy flinch away from the dining room. Whenever his father was displeased, the boy could swear that he felt a chill in the air and the hair on the back of his neck raised on end; though he was sure it could only be accounted for his own jittery nerves, he couldn't dismiss that his father's rage did not account for anything. He knew well to fear his father, and each time his wrath emerged he justified his son's reaction, _**"Where**_ have you_** been?"**_

_**XOX**_

_**(Current Day)**_

"Sometimes, you have no choice"

"I did everything in my power-"

"I did not meant to-"

Thoughts of amends lived and died on her tongue. How could she ask forgiveness from her children when she knew she came nowhere near deserving it? She could tell them each their life story from birth to desertion and it would not be enough for them to understand. She remembered everything, and clung to her memories at night, because they justified her reasons for leaving. She had to have written thousands of letters to each of them, apologizing. They were all burned away, after all, what right did she have to ask for anything? She had left them behind, abandoning them to their madman of a father.

Not that Valentine didn't love his children. Well, at the very least he adored Clary, his dear golden child. Jonathan and Jace had been entirely on purpose, and while Jocelyn didn't doubt that the mistake in destroying his own son to further his own theories, his own goals, would haunt her husband till the end of days, she also knew that he would not hesitate in making the mistake again.

After destroying his first born, he had been remorseful. Somehow, she knew it in the deepest depths of her heart that her husband felt the loss of never knowing their son as she had, and he would never have slipped angel blood into her meals had he known that she was pregnant, just in the off chance that adverse effects would take root in their second child.

Where her son had been born too wicked, Jace had been too naive and soft, not bad qualities to have, but not what Valentine had hoped for. Clary on the other hand, seemed to have all of the good in Nephilim and all of the strengths in Angelic powers. She was exactly what her father desired from the first dabbling into darkness, and because she was his daughter, she was a failure, for he would not sacrifice her as he had Jonathan.

Still, regardless of how miserable the thought of their reuniting might make her, she longed for it. She had greatly wronged them, and they deserved their own chance to reprimand her for that misdeed. But they were her children, regardless of what monstrosities they may be.

A soft padding noise, wet and damp as it echoed in the darkness alerted the woman of the creature approaching quickly and surely.

Turning, the woman looked back over her shoulder, and her bleary eyes shone brightly in the candle light. A woman, no a girl. She leaned against the doorway with her arms wrapped around her midriff, running rapidly along her arms to heat herself from the outside chill. The noise was soft, like skin on skin, and Jocelyn could only motherly worry over what exactly she had gone out in this time. It was too cool out now for anything less than long sleeves.

"We have them, mother."

Years may have passed and her life was so sure here, but still she could not see enough to make out who it was in the dark, though the bitter voice could only belong to one person in the pack.

Forcing on the best smile she could muster, Jocelyn stood and reached out for the girl's hand, "Vianey."

"Yes Mother." Expertly she held out a lighter and it sparked thrice before igniting into a blaze along the wall. The wall sconce burst into flames brilliantly, and within the next blink, the dark-skinned girl had gone and come back, the discarded gears she once wore in hand.

Jocelyn never thought she would ever have to don these again.

Good thing she had the nimble fingers of an assassin at hand.

_**XOX**_

Maryse had woken up early that next morning after Clary's party to the sound of Max breaking out of his crib as he was known to do when Isabelle didn't wake up and pull him out for breakfast.

It was acceptable this time. Her children were probably still at the Morgenstern mansion, passed out in their own rooms. It was a sure sign that Isabelle and Alec were just not here.

Half asleep, she pulled herself out of bed, situating the long sweater she had slept in over the leggings in case someone was moving about in the hallways as she headed directly for her son's bed.

Max was not there. Her heart began racing just as she heard a squeal down the stairs and a sharp rapping noise muting it out. He sat at the bottom of the staircase, holding a stuffed bear that was nearly as large as he was, his hand against his mouth as if he'd been gnawing at the back of one of his knuckles again. "Szzzy!"

Coming down the stairs, the mother swept her son up as a loud pounding began anew. Shouldering the young boy, she hesitantly opened the door; she was not prepared for the wide, frantic eyes of her daughter as she shoved her way into the house and tried to drag her mother back out with her.

What was wrong? Isabelle was level headed, always. For something to have disturbed her this much, it must have been earth shattering. She shook, as her hands clutched at her mother's forearm and tugged, trying to lead her away from their home, "Isabelle Lightwood! What, by the angel-"

"They're gone!" the raven haired girl let go, just to rake her fingers irritable through her hair, twisting the ends in her tight grasp to calm herself. Maryse doubted she even noticed that she did it. "I went to wake Clary up for breakfast, and she wasn't in her room, or Jonathan's, Jace's or Simon's! I looked everywhere, but they're not in the house! They're all gone!"

Understanding settled heavily on her. The children had gone missing now as well, just over five years after their mother and in the night just as Jocelyn had. The older woman grabbed hold of her daughter's shoulders, wrenching her back into the house, "Stay here!"

She gave only a momentary fight before realizing her baby brother had been forced into her arms just as the door shut. The only duty she ought to have is protecting the infant, being a good older sister.

_**XOX**_

It was true.

The entire house had been searched, every door opened and lightly scanned. Jonathan, Clary and Simon were missing. Maryse had raced to the house on her own, and gathered the staff for armed hunt.

Jace had been found in his room with her son pretty early on, and the Lightwood woman directed Alec with great duress to take him back to their home; if this was anything like Jocelyn's disappearance, she didn't want them lost in the crossfire when the realization dawned on the searchers and Valentine that they were indeed gone. The last time was enough of an experience and it had taken years of therapy to calm Clary after her father had gone off the deep end the last time.

When at last every room had been looked into, that there was absolutely no chance that any of the missing children could be found in the house, she resolved to finding their father herself.

He was not in his room or the office, but she found the cellar door ajar, and called down to him after she had set the staff on to look for every trace they could find of everyone that had been in the house in the past day.

The cellar had never given her the best of feelings. In fact, from the first day he had invited her down there, the truest sign of trust the man ever gave anyone, she had begged him to shut it down. She could not sway his hand, however. He must have real results if he refused so strongly. She had only dared to go as far as the bottom of the stairs, but even that far was too close to evil for her liking.

With a deep breath, she mustered her courage, and tried her best to ignore to cringing beasts he had strung up by hooks suspended in the ceiling and chained up, half hidden behind curtains that were thrown up for her benefit. She could still hear them crying in agony, could smell the decay in the small room, and it set her off kilter more than the ancient evil laced and ground into the walls did, and she swallowed hard before calling for her lover, "Valentine-!"

He didn't respond, forcing her further into the horrid room. The floor clicked wetly beneath her boots and it sent everything alive into a tizzy, fearing the pain they were sure that would come next. Nearing halfway through the room, she could hear his groan in response. Turning, she spotted him passed out in an armchair, his eyes cracking open blearily.

He looked exhausted and it made her curious what had been so important that he had been locked away down here while his children were stolen from him.

Suddenly she was furious. That was right. His arm was bruised darkly, which only meant he has busy drugging himself to oblivion. Perhaps this would push him hard enough to close this damned place down, though she doubted it mattered now- he had lost everything important to him now. Folding her arms across her chest, she ignored the helpless smile he gave her as he waved her closer to him, intending her to take a seat on his lap.

When she didn't respond, he forced his eyes more open and sat up groggily.

Something upset her enough to refuse him, hell to come down here in the first place. With a sneer of disgust the woman marched off, "Sober up, Valentine. Your children need you."

Maryse couldn't sugar coat it, nor would she try to. Had he been asleep in his room, it would have been different. He was at fault for this entirely.

If his daughter's body turned up somewhere, the blame would lie entirely on his shoulders. Maryse doubted she could forgive him for that.

_**XOX**_

"Clarissa has gone missing, Jonathan," Valentine's voice had an edge to it, the grating nature catching at his nerves like a loose nail on a cashmere sweater. He watched his son as he nonchalantly continued on with his life while everyone else seemed broken in two. His youngest was even aware of her absence despite his age and the fact that he lived in another household. The starlight haired man supposed it was because of the Lightwood children, his sister Isabelle in particular. She coddled the boy and was very close with his daughter. Isabelle was beside herself, her eyes bloodshot. It took everything in her mother's power to keep her back at the Lightwood home while the rest of his household searched for his daughter. Perhaps the time had come that he involved himself in the toddler's life, move him close where he could be protected.

Someone was kidnapping his children after all.

Jonathan nodded mutely, feeling the air around his head sizzle hotly, his breathing erratic as entropy reigned in his mind. Clary had gone missing; there was nothing he could do about it but worry about his young sister's safety. He had distanced himself from her, hoping to give her what little freedom he could, and Jace seemed to understand the situation; he needed one of them, and it didn't particularly matter which. So if he chose to let the Morgenstern boy have what he wanted from him, Clary didn't have to suffer. Their mutual love for their sister was one of the few things that truly bound them. "Gone up to see mother dearest, has she?"

His tone came out bitter and snarky as he played with a piece of meat in his bowl that he had little desire in eating. It wasn't that he didn't care what happened to her. No, farther from the truth, he needed her safe. But he couldn't help but make light of the situation that twice now inside of six years the same people had waltzed in and played them for fools, taking the ones that were dearest to Valentine away. He couldn't protect her where she was now, but the mundane would in his place even if it meant his life only bought her a bit longer to live, and then their people would bring her back. They had made a mistake in taking Clary. Now they had all they needed to find out what had happened to their mother as well.

Then, he would teach them the error of their ways. The thought brought a wicked smile to his full lips.

"Your sister is missing, damn it, show some compassion!" Tightening his fist, Valentine stood threateningly upright as he slammed his hand against the table, up starting the children and their place settings. Max began screeched and reached for Maryse, whom had rounded the table and drew her babe as close to her breast as possible, and the pale boy began to minutely twitch, his shirt covered by the upturned bowl of stew as he looked up at the infuriated man seething beside him. His father looked about to kill him, and perhaps he had the right to do so.

"I would rather they had taken you instead of the Mundane boy." His father sneered at him and the look of hate in his father's eyes put him on edge again, like he needed to escape. Pushing back in his chair, the legs scraped along the marble tile, squeaking.

When he did stand it was agonizingly slow, and he moved with a smooth and robotic purpose, his glare never lowering. He turned stiffly, shoving the chair against the table mutely as moved to leave the room.

Jonathan was done with this man and this woman and her baby. These people were not his family. Half of them were gone and the other half didn't care how he was holding on.

As he neared the open door, he could hear their heartbeats erratically synchronize, the tremor of fear and fury like a symphony, waking the evilest parts inside of him. He needed this edge cut down again, needed Jace, and he would have to figure it out on his own tonight. Jonathan would not stoop to prowling along Alicante for the wayward boy.

He knew somehow that his father did not speak again, but it was almost as if he read his mind, the stiff figure following him distrustfully. He could hear the familiar voice loud and crisp, chasing after him as he went. _**"At least then I would have someone of actual use."**_

"And I'm sorry father," he called over his broad shoulder as he shrugged down the hallway, a pendulum- like sway to his hips, "but it seems you programmed me without compassion. Better luck with that _**next**_ kid you'll fuck up, or perhaps with my Jace. They're your _**favorites**_ now, _**aren't they**_?"

Valentine allowed him to escape as his son's choice of words circled around in his mind like an unsavory taste. Though the response was bitterly resentful, it had merit. He knew he didn't trust his son not to fuck this up. Jonathan was irrational at the best of times and the older man could only assume he would allow the uncurbed wrath to boil out his veins and he couldn't allow that.

With every loss of control he lost his son more and more. Too soon he would lose him completely to insanity unless they found a more permanent solution to his condition. The injections were meant to do that for him, but their inconsistency was less than appetizing, and more than once Jonathan had returned to his original state after only a few days. Then, suddenly they began working again as if by magic and for weeks the boy seemed cured, and Jonathan went for almost a month without shooting up. Jonathan had been 7 then, things were different now; now his son was dealing with his own nature and hormones, and the two were startlingly too similar for Valentine's tastes.

From then on Valentine vowed he would see his monster to his grave, fitfully when he saw there nothing left of the child he held.

But Jace was different. He was Valentine's favorite son; he was level headed and brave and the best soldier he could have asked for.

But he was too soft, almost meek enough that he regretted slaying the demon- borne that swept over their lands. He so resembled Clary in that way, but for his daughter it was all right, she was a girl after all.

Jace was a boy, the adopted son of the most well heard power in Nephilim history; he had no choice but to bruise the boy and break him in hopes that it would make him stronger.

Pushing the chair in, the white haired man looked at his youngest and the woman that bore him, anxiously watching him. Maryse watched him silently, and her breathing hitched as their eyes met.

"Valentine..." She began softly, the tone so full of emotion that it threatened to break her, "I'm so so-"

The man's retreating form cut her off, his hand raised in a silencing gesture, "have Jace brought to my office immediately."

With that the man left, leaving no room for argument.

Maryse stood at the open door, watching his masculine prowl as he stormed away furious, so like and yet so different from his first born, wondering what the future would hold for the son in her arms.

The strain of favoritism in this family was dangerously deadly. She would not be able to save her baby from the heartache and pressure of his father's affections, not as his new chosen child.

That left her only one choice: exalting the prior holder I the position. She would have to find a way to save Jonathan, somehow turn him human again.

That is, if there was anything human left in the child her lover had destroyed.

_**XOX**_

_**Author's note:**_

_**Ithuriel twist came from some inspiration from Paradise Lost, in which Ithuriel and Zephon go and try to track Satan down. I figured it a bit ironic that Ithuriel would be sent to punish Valentine (who's surname stems from Lucifer) for creating a demon-Nephilim child.**_

_**I apologize for the jumpiness of the last few chapters. I feel like I pushed out certain parts now, perhaps lower than expectations and may go back EVENTUALLY and alter them so they're a bit less hurried and closer to the caliber that I wanted some of them to be. I felt like I was lingering too long off of where I wanted to go, what excites me to write and so some of the writing just doesn't seem right to me as it is yet.. The interactions with Jonathan and Aline were like that too. **_

_**This whole chapter was meant to be bittersweet with her continuously turning her down.**_

_**Jocelyn's flashbacks have always been just little dabbles and I wondered where to put them. I liked the idea of her thinking on her children's growth as she's writing out what she might say when she would eventually see them again. So that's what they became.**_

_**Lyrics belong to Ashley Tisdale: 'How do you love someone'**_

_**Either way, I hope to get to the hard story line faster now.**_

_**As a bit of a heads up: the next chapter may take some time to get out and posted. With the Day after Thanksgiving Sale at work, Thanksgiving itself, and some birthday celebrations, I'm going to be a bit busier than normal. I'm expecting a bit longer of a chapter, but it should hit by the end of November. It will probably be the only chapter for November as well, even if I get it out before Thanksgiving.**_

_**Liked it? Review, Follow, Fave.**_

_**Show the love**_

_**Til next time**_

_**TAORI**_


	9. Crumble

"_**For a star to be born,**_

_**There is **_one thing_** that must happen:**_

_**A gaseous nebula must **_collapse.

_**So collapse.**_

_**Crumble.**_

_**This is not your**_

destruction.

_**This is your birth."**_

_**n.t.**_

Tentatively, the golden haired boy stood, shaking in front of the only father he had ever known. At thirteen and a half years old, he could count the times he had been summoned by the General of Clave's army to stand before the man that controlled the government himself with only half of one of his hands. Both times, he had been sick to his stomach as his nerves took over and fight or flight tried to ignite some sense in him before he'd managed to choke out two words to his father figure. The only other time, he had Alec's strength to fall back on, but now as he stood before Valentine in the frigidly cold room, he knew he was the only one that would be coming here to his rescue.

Nervously, he swallowed, trying to calm himself on his own. His palms would start to sweat any moment now and he didn't need to look like he was running a marathon. He didn't want Valentine to think any less of him. Looking at the man, it was hard to read him, and though he was sure it was expected of him, Jace couldn't bring himself to stand at attention, leaving his hands to limply hang at his sides, and as his fingers twitched with worry he stared out the open window above Valentine's stark white hair, waiting for the inevitable end.

He'd been talking now for a good half hour, and Jace still didn't catch any drift of the reason for the summoning. He was just about ready to ask for the axe so he could do himself in when the man finally revealed anything, and at long last, Jace let out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"It is a dreadful task that I have to place before you, Jonathan Herondale. One I fear you might have some difficulty performing. It has come to my attention that my wife has betrayed me, run off to alliance herself with the wolf clans to the west where an old foe of mine now reigns. I would turn a blind eye to her traitorous acts, if it weren't for her having our daughter abducted. Her safety must be seen to before all else-"

"Clary's been kidnapped?!" the slight boy exclaimed. Looking at Valentine, no one else would have probably saw the way the tall man's jaw locked nor the way his eyelids tightened at the sound of his daughter's preferred pet name coming from _**his **_soldier's lips, nor would anyone else but Jace or his blood son, react in just the same way to this news. Jonathan was simply out of question now; Valentine had been against sending his only other child into the fray anyway, but his inability to refrain himself of late made his father wary to leave him on his own. It was why it _**had**_ to be Jace that went for her. It was a personal need that he was fulfilling; second only to the fact it was a mission, one he had asked for and was unheard of for someone so young. It meant he would give his all to succeed.

The boy looked as if someone had doused him with a bucket of ice water. Valentine had expected him to piss himself moments before and now he stood before him paler than before and the shaking was unmistakable, like whatever had held his resolve before to remain strong before his father had been shattered, like a pin being pulled from a hinge. His _**daughter's loss**_ had done that to him. He had no right being so familiar with her, however. Jace was, after all, practically a servant. His life in their home came down to his usefulness. The moment he became an utter waste, he would throw him out on his own like yesterday's garbage. There was no familial love between he and the boy, though he saw how the boy looked up to him and he felt a small amount of human kindness for the boy. If he had chosen it, Jace would have made an excellent replacement for Jonathan, but Valentine still had that vain hope that his first born might pull through after these next few difficult years.

With a grinding cringe to his jaw, he leaned back into his chair, his hand rising to his temple to stave off the impending headache he was already giving himself. It wouldn't do to strangle the boy, not now that he had settled that he was the only choice for the job. Jace was simply overstepping a slight boundary he had set in place, not playing skip- rope with it.

"_**Clarissa **_is missing, and I do believe that her mother has something to do with it. I ask that as my adopted son, you find my precious daughter. Bring her back to me, regardless of the costs. And as a mark of faith, I shall allow you a partner, to make sure that you are victorious. Choose who you will, you know your arms well. Return her to me safe, and you will name your reward."

Jace was speechless. He was giving him free reign to assign and run his own mission solo or with a partner, to retrieve Clary no less. Nothing in the world would have made him happier, save for the prize; he could ask for Clary, once he was worthy of her. And wouldn't saving her from impending doom and returning her home be the worthiest way to do that?

"You asked for an assignment, and here I present you the dearest of them all. Will you take it, Jonathan, and make me proud, or should I find another to take your place?"

His heart raced, and he felt like leaping for joy, no matter how inappropriate, "Thank you_**, thank you**_, I won't displease you, sir!"

He was gone in whirlwind, almost faster than Valentine's eyes could watch. He was enthusiastic. That was excellent, as no one had found any trace of his wife when she left, and barely any evidence was left this time. What had been left behind by the intruders had been a mockery, a show of disdain. They must have known how hard they had looked for any sign of identity last time, but only found his family's finger prints. This time, they made sure to showcase everything that was touched, but nothing had been left behind to trace. Whoever it was, they were trying to goad him, but it did not matter. He had gathered enough the last time to figure out what had probably occurred. His theories were now in the boy's eager hands, and it would be a shot in the dark at best, but he hoped the boy would succeed and he would be right at long last, with his daughter returned to him and perhaps her mother if all the cards played out right.

It was only moments before the dark shrouded woman slipped back into his office, as if she had nothing better to do than make a mockery of him and his losses. She set a cup of black coffee before him on the desk as she drew up into her perch of a chair beside his desk, in between the shadows and the sliver of sunlight the curtain caste in the room, her knees drawn up as she rested her chin and her hands on them, looking to the man with a truly remorseful gaze, her eyes bright and vividly blue in the dying sunlight that had caught her face in a dazzlingly warm blaze as she leaned into it, sighing at the warmth.

Silence reigned between them, but Valentine could not break it. He lost many things but he would never lose the power that this room gave him, no matter how worried she appeared to look for him, no matter how she tried to interfere in any of his hearts desires and needs, he was still in charge. She would never have power over him, not as Jocelyn had.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked softly after too long had passed them by. He refused to look at her, but if he had she was certain she would have broken down beside him. His daughter was gone, as was his one true love. He might have her now, but Jocelyn beat her out every time, even in memory.

Still, he looked anywhere but at her, and she resigned herself to stay the depression and the darkness that had settled in this house, to never knowing what really lurked behind the man's pitch black gaze.

For now, it was the only thing she could do, without destroying all of her own desires.

_**XOX**_

Waking was never one of Clary's favorite things to do, though she never struggled quite the way she did now to open her eyes. It was like she was floating in a warm pool, comfort wrapping around her groggy mind in a way that set her off a nervous tick that she was _**too comfortable**_, like instinctively she felt like she was the fly in a spider's web, neuro toxins pumping through her veins to make her stay half alive and unable to fight back. She knew she had to open her eyes, but there seemed to be a weight settling across them, convincing her otherwise. She found she wanted to obey her selfish desires, to drift off again to dream land, but she struggled against the heavy sleep regardless.

It didn't budge. Sleepily, she raised her hands to her eyes, struggling with the covers that had been tucked up around her chin for several moments as she tried to rub the sleep from her eyes. Out of half cracked lids, she saw nothing, and she wasn't even too certain that her hands had even risen upon her orders. She no longer felt the bed against them, but they were otherwise numb, like an anesthetic had been locally injected. Weakly, her hands fell back to her thighs, sliding limply across the soft flannel pants.

_**Wait, pants? She had gone to bed in her slip last night… **_Clary's head rose, looking as far as she could to define her surroundings. She wasn't in her room; she could make that much out. She wasn't in the same clothes she went to bed in either. Her room could never be this dark. The girl weakly cringed, trying to move her legs. They would not budge, as if locked in a vice or cuffed to the bed frame, despite the freedom her feet felt. It was like her arms, but heavier. They would not obey her command, and when she sat up to touch them, her head swam, her weak vision swimming painfully as a tightening knot in her stomach announced her queasiness before the bile rose into her mouth.

Had she been drugged?

Who knew? Most certainly not her. Hefting up onto her elbows, the world swam again before her eyes dizzily, crying for her to remain where she was for now, to close her eyes and drift away to that lovely place sleep took her. Chances were on drugged. Closing her eyes made it no better nor worse, it was as dark in the world around her as it was in her mind, but she felt too endanger of losing consciousness again that way.

Suddenly frantic, she patted herself down as best as she could with no feeling in her hands, the movement coming more as a messy sweep of her hands than a pat down. Her stele was still with Simon, wherever he had gone or been taken to, and her garter where her seraph blade had been at her coming of age party was missing. She was completely defenseless and out of her element.

No, not defenseless. She was a Morgenstern, after all. She knew how to use her hands and nails if she needed to really protect herself. Until they resorted to dismantling her, she had a chance at defending herself, however slight. But she couldn't stay here, either way. She needed her eyes, and if the Angel would will it, something to defend herself with would be nice.

Rolling to the edge of the bed weakly, the girl reached down towards where she hoped the floor would greet her delicate, cold fingertips. It was the only thing she was certain of, the only thing that she could be hopelessly sure of no matter where or what happened to her. Up was up, and down was down, and if she gave up control to it, Gravity would show her the way down. With no other choice with the weakness that had shaken her knees, she let herself slide off the cot to the cobbled slab floor.

It was further than she had anticipated. Hitting hard, the exposed stone bit at her knees and the palms of her hands that had risen to stop her fall defiantly. She wanted to cry, but stifled the noise in the back of her throat. Blood was seeping from the scrapes in her hands, but the darkness was too thick to see just how bad the damage was. It couldn't be that bad could it? Nothing she couldn't persevere through at least, right? She had to get out of here somehow.

What would she do if they found out she was awake and returned? Whoever it was had stripped her of all of her defenses. How could she expect anything less than the worst from such a person or people?

Touching the ground, she stumbled along the uneven floor on all fours, crouched like a dog as she searched out a wall, where she hoped to find a door, painfully wincing when she twisted a stone into her roughed hands and knees accidentally.

That would be half her battle. Find the door, find the way out.

Fight any thing off that tried to stop either of those things from happening.

Slowly, she shuffled her way across the craggy, compounded rocks that served as flooring, blindly cutting herself as she dragged herself along the floor half limply. She would get out of here, one way or another, broken or whole.

_**XOX**_

Banging on the door in the pouring rain in the dead of night was probably not the best decision Jace had taken in his seventeen years of life. Now, drenched to the bone and in utter twilight, he was fairly certain no one was home, or at the very least no one was awake and willing enough to make the short journey to check the door. Frozen cold as the water seeped bone deep, the boy decided that he might as well go in regardless of welcome, and make himself comfortable until a time they were up to speaking with him.

It took a few moments to jimmy open the door as his lock picking skills were minimal, but he only had to contend with the flimsy lock that Maryse had put on to help deter thieves and to keep her estranged husband out of her business. Using his stele, he rammed the tip into the lock, wrenching it upward as he twisted the lock loose. How Robert Lightwood never thought of this, Jace would never figure out.

Shouldering it gently, the heavy door swung open louder than he had anticipated, creaking as it flew through the air and bounced sharply against the wall; he caught it before it bounded back entirely, shutting it as quietly as possible with a wince. If anyone were asleep he didn't need them to wake up.

But chances were that someone was still roaming the house. The hallway was illuminated, and in the den off to the left of the room he stood idly in had a large fire roaring to life. The interior of the waiting room was a pale blue, the fire light throwing a red and gold flickering hue over it and everything else as far as it could reach, washing everything with a warm hue. The receiving room opened up into the family room with low, plush couches to the left and a winding staircase to the right sweeping upward over an arched doorway that led downward like a hill mound in a gentle slope to the rest of the house, he could only assumed, as he only ever dared go this far.

Maryse Lightwood ran a very clean ship, and their white carpet was impeccably pure and flawless, so bright it was like staring at a blank piece of paper under the sun. He felt guilty enough to kick off his dirty boots on the tiled floor, knowing there was no hope he had about the pools of water he shed off like a waterfall. At least here, he could attempt to bring the house back to its unreasonably clean standard and hope the blame would not land on him when Maryse finally did notice the remains he would likely leave as evidence.

A noise at the stairs made him give pause, freezing in the act, bent over as he unthreaded the laces to his boots. He heard a feminine intake, the lofty noise making him slowly rise back to his full height. He began to turn, praying that the voice did not belong to the Lightwood mother. He didn't have enough in him to take a round with her tonight.

A voice cut through him, and a wave of relief washed over him mid turn. It was not Maryse but her daughter that lingered. Her voice was raspy and soft, as if she was trying not to wake anyone up, _**"Alec is that you?"**_

Isabelle Lightwood stood on the stairs, her long black hair in a loosely plaited braid over her shoulder and a witch light stone in her hand, held out as far in front of her as she could as if that might make the dark more inviting, as if a foot more might shed enough light to make out the dark shadow he caste near the door. What it did allow, however, was Jace's ability to look at the girl's face, scrunched up as she tried to make him out, half out of it like he had woken her up, perhaps, but in her other hand she held a book.

No, she looked too well to have just risen from bed. Had she been trying to stay up to wait for someone? Alec or her mother, perhaps? Looking harder at her, he smiled, humorously shaking his head. Then, Jace laughed. He'd known the girl for most of his life, and despite how far their looks were a part, his mannerisms or his body type, or something often got him mistaken in the dark as Alec, the eldest child of the Lightwoods. Jonathan had done so when they were training, enough times to upset him, but it had been brushed aside by the elder boy that he must just remind him of , perhaps he fought in a similar manner, moved in the same fluidity that was remarkably familiar, but Jace couldn't help but wonder if it was something else. Isabelle just now had seen it, felt it. They were highly faithful to the Morgenstern family, just as he was, and as such he had grown beside the elder boy and his younger sister, but he could not see a connection that could get him mistaken as the other boy as often as he was.

"No Izzy, it's just me." His voice came out rough, and he almost laughed again as the tall girl rushed down the stairs to the door to greet him.

"Thank the _**Angel**_ you are _**alright!**_" Isabelle's arms were like warm iron binding him to her. He resisted momentarily, pulling away as he felt her warmth sap the moisture that soaked deep into his gears, but ended up drawing her nearer, his nose tickling on the silky raven hair that rested beneath it. Her nails bit painfully into his back as she held him desperately close, but he tried not to mind. _**"We were so worried**_! You were in Alec's room and then you weren't- _**You have got to be more careful**_. Do you have any idea what's going on, what has happened? The entire city is in an uproar, we ha-a-"

_**"Jace, you're dripping wet!**_ You have to get out of those clothes before you get sick!" at last she pulled away, as if she had not noticed he was drenched to the bone, but her reprimanding was endearing, comical even. In the doorway, she was stripping him down, throwing the jacket into the corner where it landed with a wet plop.

"Izzy!" he cried, catching at the hands which crossed so many boundaries he didn't know where to start counting, folding the fingers down in his grasp, "Stop. Just get me a towel or a sheet or something and I'll change into Alec's clothes once I talk to him. Is he here?"

When she didn't answer, the boy began to wonder. Was Alec here even? Was that why she had originally thought it was her brother at the door? Had she fallen asleep waiting for him to come back to her?

"I have to discuss something with him. We need to define this… I mean what's going to happen between u…"

He cut short, but it was enough to get the gears churning in Isabelle's mind. _**They needed to define what was going on between them? **_Her gentle heartbeat raced faster, with the realization that her brother may indeed receive the object of his desires. Her heart soared for him, truly it did. It had been a long time that he had been smitten with the golden haired boy, and Isabelle had been afraid that nothing would come of it. Now, the boy stood in their living room, dripping wet in the dead of night, and wanting to see Alec? Was he truly that desperate to see her brother?

"_**HE'SUPSTAIRSINHISROOM!" **_she shrieked at last. Jace smiled at her, patting her cheek tenderly before racing up the stairs, having long forgotten the wetness of his clothes.

If Maryse had shit to say about it, he would take it another day. For now, he had a mission set before him and he had to get a move on it immediately.

_**XOX**_

"_**But Luuuukkeee," **_an auburn haired girl dramatically threw her shoulders forward, slumping pitifully as she dragged her feet pitifully. Sometimes he forgot how hard it was to talk sense into teenagers, and this lot was no exception to the rule. Her older sister nicked her ear painfully with her pointer finger and thumb without a passing glance, her eyes trained respectfully on the elder in the room.

"What she means to say," the girl began, turning a withering look on the smaller girl to level the meaning of her mild attack, her brown eyes large as she stared her sister down, "is can't some of the boys go down? We are just women after all, we're practically useless."

Lucian never expected this much work would go into running a wolf pack. The politics and hierarchy were enough to choke a horse, and the magnitude of it was almost comical considering they lived like cavemen that regularly bathed.

They would have to go. Whether they liked it or not, it was their turn to reinforce the barriers, to check the outskirts of the caves for any creepy- crawly slimy demonic spawn. They had found Behemoths a few months back, proving that even as Downworlders they were not safe here. No one was spared from that reality here, and it was their responsibility to keep everyone safe. He was having enough of the arguments his pack raised. None of the other six Alphas seemed to have received this amount of hell over a few hours hike through the depths of the cave networks.

Perhaps it was time to reinstate his authority. It was a pain, however, as he would have to strategically take down one of his underlings, put him in his place so the rest of his pack would get the message. Thing was, none of them really caused enough fuss for reprimand.

"Why have you been listening to Kito again, Amabel? God only knows that man is a chauvinistic piece of work, why let him get in your head like that?"

The girl shifted, crossing her arms loosely under her large breasts as she diverted her attention to the mouth of the den, her attentive, dark eyes darting from Lucian to the entryway through her thick, pin straight hair. She didn't seem to be taking his words to heart, but it didn't matter much. She would obey his direct order if he gave it. "He's an alpha, isn't he? I'll listen to him as much as I would you or my mother."

"Yeah but your mother and I aren't spoon feeding you bulls-"

"Luke!" A deep voice rasped loudly, hollowly echoing through the wet, dark halls. The telltale sign of his approach lit the tunnel up like the full moon at his feet, making the darkened tunnel illuminate. The raggedly cut head perked up, as the thinly toned man attached to it whipped around to face the opening to the room, the lesser wolves surrounding him raising to stand alert.

_**Sure,**_ Lucian found himself thinking bitterly, _**now they know how to act.**_

"_**Speak of the devil, and he will appear."**_

The beastly form of another alpha had prowled in, looking positively wrathful as his deep tanned flesh rolled fluidly, thick bands of muscle straining. It had set the underlings that had been meeting with him into a frenzy, the younger two girls clinging to each other as the elder one shook silently, the hair on her arms raised on end. In the second it took for them to recognize the intruder, the only other male in the room, a boy with dark, curly hair and brilliantly light hazel eyes had shoved Amabel behind him, her hand resting in the small of his back as she raised her other arm to guarded her siblings behind her. It was a truly pleasing sight if it weren't for the fact that what threatened them into action was one of their own, unarmed. None of them dared to blink, their eyes fixed at the new threat in their home. The silver- streaked brown- haired man could only do his best to set them at ease with his own peace. This man never was one known for his subtlety and the way he was gallivanting around the den, he was sure to get into a one sided fight that would end up with four whimpering children and probably him limping away. Raising his hand, the elder werewolf put his betas to rest as best as he could, "Kito, what is it? Are the walls breaking again?"

"Luke, the girl's gone, ran from the room your boys put her in last night." The black man glanced to the other boy in the room, a threatening enough lycan in his true form, he was no match for either Luke or himself in either form, but the way he was thrashing around made him wonder if there might be something more than an outburst. The rest of them were sniveling bitches anyway. Without his direct disobedience, there would be no fight unless they were clueless.

Kito was certain that he would not fall prey to any woman's strength. It would take a cunning male too stupid for his own good to do any sort of real damage to him. His ruthless stare glared down the beta male, regardless of the improbability that he would challenge him to be an Alpha.

The boy seemed content enough to remain under Lucian.

"This is not good Luke," the late teen with short, dark brown hair growled lightly, his hand pulling at the length of locks near his ear. He was frustrated, as the ex- Shadow- hunter was sure all of his pack was, that they had orchestrated yet another kidnapping for to appease someone that wasn't even of their own kind, even though he had been obedient and done exactly as he was told a few nights before. The kid's jaw still hurt from where the little bastard had punched him before he knocked him out and it was swollen now, deep purple where it had been struck. It put them all on edge that the number of Nephilim in their den were slowly outnumbering their pack leaders, just three more and they would be evenly matched arm to arm. "I _**told you**_ we should have drugged the little bitch up or tied her punk ass-"

_**"Mica."**_

The boy turned sharply, twitching at the tone of voice the large man standing behind Lucian spoke with. He was much larger than the youth, and well into his thirties. Mica knew better than to challenge one alpha but when a second stood at the others side he had to do some swift back pedaling. "My apologies, Kito. I mean no disrespect to my alpha or his kin. But perhaps reasonable accommodations should have been seen-"

"She's still here, isn't she?" Kito laughed haughtily, clapping the boy in the back of the shoulder. The movement set the blonde at his back off, and she bit back a snarl just as it was about to be born, "Trust me accommodations enough have been in line. We'll find the twerp one way or another. There's only one way out, we'll either come across her in the next few days or her body, eventually. _**Someday.**_"

The idea of that was unpleasant, albeit truthful. It would probably be them that found her too, with how Luke was trying to run timely sweeping parties along the entire perimeter of the cave network. Mica moved to step away from the three girls when a loud shriek reverberated around the room, and a sharp snarl erupted from one of the younger ones. What little peace that had settled among his underlings had shattered with the sound, and he could see that the four had wisely begun to transform to with the emotions the sound evoked deep within them.

"Well. It appears our search won't take _**nearly**_ as long as I originally had assumed. It looks like she may have found herself some trouble, that little lady of yours. "

Glancing back to the others that flanked him, Luke gestured to Mica to follow them out and the black man gestured with a flick of his chin that he ought to leave the room first. The boy got the hint and took the lead, wrenching himself from the clinging female as he stepped sure- footedly into the pitch black hall and climbed blindly up the pathway with scuttling feet until the residual glow took its place and illuminated his path. Kito was right on his tail, metaphorically speaking for once, but hesitated at the doorway of the room for Lucian to take position in their progression. No others were needed with them, not with two powerhouses together.

The three girls remained, the younger ones fending off the change far worse than Amabel, whom still shook, but seemed completely human despite the golden hue her brown orbs had taken on.

The order was passed through their eyes, and the girl nodded mutely, stiffly drawing away to lead her sisters into the winding tunnels. She recognized the command without the spoken order, but Lucian called out to them all the same so there would be no questionability if later he found they had disobeyed him, "The rest of you, get down to the lower levels. I want every inch scoured by dark."

_XOX_

When Clary set her mind to do something, she was sure to accomplish what she had planned. It was one of the few things she knew about herself that was irrevocably true. In her blind journey along the floor, she had cut herself a plethora of times and only once gave pause after a broken shaft of rock embedded in the palm of her hand. She had wrenched it out quickly from the shock of the pain, forgetting all of her minor medical training and did what it would have demanded that she not do, and threw the rock as far from her as she could muster, which was not far off, maybe three feet where it made a cracking noise and it backfired towards her with a scattering noise. _**The wall.**_

The cut was deep, and Clary knew enough to know it would need binding as she felt the languid wetness run down her middle finger to drip to the floor. With little regard, she tore her sleeve off, twisting the soft fabric into a tight bandage and securing it with a knot over her wrist.

The pain had reached her despite the drugged haze when she bound the wound tight enough to stint the bleeding. That had to be a good sign- that she was getting better. It made it clearer to her as well, that she needed something, anything to defend herself.

The rock was her new search, her hands sliding along the floor in the direction she heard it scatter off to. Seizing the sharp feeling rock from the floor, still slick with her blood on the one tip, the girl turned it around three times in her hands before settling on the best way to hold it. It wasn't perfect, but it would do if she found herself in a pinch. It was sharp on two ends, but the sides were smooth and slippery, like water had eroded the roughness of it away, but she found that the one side above the razor sharp edge had a good nook to it to wrap her pinky around to gain leverage should she have to stab with it.

The small girl dragged herself still in her drugged haze along the floor, across the room in the pitched darkness to the wall she now knew the location of and then around the room until she found the door shakily touching the wall as she shuffled, scratching rather than biting her knees and hands. The entire process took much less time than she had figured it would. To her surprise, there was no solid door to keep her in, but rather a curtain that swung open easily and waved in the gentle draft the empty hallway gave off.

Hesitating at the doorway, she used the small space to heft herself to her feet, her strong legs anchoring her in place as she walked her back weakly up the wall and she waited for someone to come running at her, for anyone unseen to jump her and force her back the way she had come, but no one came.

If they wanted her enough to drug her, why hadn't she been tied to the bed or given a guard to watch the doorway in the instance she did manage to make it there? Why had there been no deterrents in place to keep her where they put her?

Stepping out into the corridor, she noticed that it was indeed brighter here. Tiny baubles in the stone walls glowed lightly at her touch, reminding her of witch- light stones most Shadow- hunters kept, and as she walked further out from the door, it glowed brighter, and she nearly winced as the hazy blue light enveloped her entirely. Light erupted from her makeshift blade as well, and Clary lifted it with a wince to inspect it. It was crystal, not craggy rock as she originally thought, and seemed to respond the same way the pathway did, and the closer it approached her torso the brighter it got. Taking a step forward, the glow followed her barefooted touch, and the girl forced her awe down as she continued quickly on her way. If anyone was here, the element of surprise and stealth were things she would lack with these glowing beacons tracking her.

The floor burned brighter with every foot fall until finally she was walking down the hallway with a steady speed, her head on pivot to make sure no one followed her, panicking momentarily every so often as the light made shadows from her hair as she looked about, brilliantly illuminated like she was walking on the ceiling with her shadow cast overhead and all around her.

She found herself running soon enough, haunted by the strange light. It ran passed her, predicting her movements, and it skipped around her like rocks over the water until it bounced off something else entirely, skittering up the walls and back towards her like thousands of balls thrown against a rounded surface. Each step she took did the same, bounding this way and that, and she slowed, curiously staring at the darkness beyond. Was it a wall up ahead? If so, why didn't it glow like the one she had entered the hallway by?

Leaning in, she pondered curiously, not daring to go any farther than she already had.

It was too late by time she realized what it was exactly.

Another human being. Or rather a group of them.

And they had her surrounded.

_**XOX**_

Jocelyn had followed the scrawny girl out of the room, awkwardly running her hand along the stiff gears that she had all but abandoned for years. They were hard to move in, difficult to remember, and the Shadow- hunter struggled to remember her old self. Had it always been this hard to be Valentine's wife? Blindly following the light as it rose up to meet the smaller feet before her, she tried to keep pace to remain in the dull light Vianey was emitting with every step. The crimson haired woman found that the lights evaded her here, leaving her abandoned in a way it did not do to the others presiding here.

She always assumed it had to do with her own bloodline, that she was not a werewolf and they were. But every step the girl took before her was met with as much vigor as the one that preceded it.

The girl brought enigma and mystery to her.

The stone in the necklace that bounded off her collarbone began to glow ethereally like those that lined the floor, illuminating the ridges in her soft face, the long lashes casting deep shadows over her lids and the scars that ran along her face harshened, bringing light to the darkness that this life brought them all. She was once a beautiful child, like they all were once, but this lifestyle could only harden you, could only destroy the beauty of the soul.

Her bright eyes were untouched by the mark, but they measured, they knew. The elder woman realized that she was moving much too slowly. The girl kept glancing back at her to make sure the quiet woman was indeed following.

"You need a haircut." The assessment from the quiet girl surprised Jocelyn, and after one of the sideways looks that were cast her way, the teen stepped into a low puddle with a wet splash that soaked her low hanging pants.

"You need a jacket," came the motherly advice before Jocelyn could help it. The girl was young enough to be her daughter even though she lived her life as an adult in the pack. She didn't need a mother, or at least she didn't act like it, and her affections received her a leveling, calculating look. "I'll let you cut it later if you agree to put something warmer on."

After several moments, the girl nodded, picking up the pace, forcing the Shadow- hunter to follow her at a near jog.

She set an unmatchable pace, her feet light and swift as something caught her eye, forcing Jocelyn to run after her.

"Asa!" came her voice again, as she saw her brother standing around with several other members of the pack. He was a tall boy with hair exactly like her own and cut in a similar fashion, and from the fifty feet away, Jocelyn could see something was very much not right. He didn't even flinch in response to his name. The way they grouped was a hard line that was backed up and flanked by lesser wolves, and in several members, she could see the elongating of snouts, lengthening ears.

The telltale signs of the change were evident in so many.

Vianey began to panic, and called for the boy again. This time he snarled a reply, something she didn't understand but it made her stay where she was until she figured out what was going on.

Was there another break in?

A fight for dominance?

The unlikely female in heat?

Jocelyn beat her to the punch, shoving through the crowd to the front, as was her right. She was the alpha bitch, these were her pack mates. If anything was going on she had the right to know, to interfere.

The responsive sigh was unexpected, however. The pack responded in turn, defending the Alpha's mate in the turn that she could be attacked, but the tone her voice took, the girl knew it. Shoving through the growing mass after her, she caught sight of a bloodied young girl, too thin for her own good, brandishing a makeshift weapon in her hand.

The voice was too much, too full of heart ache and loss that it tightened her heart painfully.

"_**Clary…?"**_

_**XOX**_

It had been in the works for a few months now to socialize the girls, much to their initial dismay. They were decent enough friends, but _**Parabatai?**_ They didn't have much in common with one another, save for their age and noble blood, but that seemed enough to hope for a parabatai bond. Not that it was _**required **_per say, but it definitely wouldn't hurt to try to get the two of them to make the oath even if they didn't mean it, apparently. You had until your eighteenth birthday to make the mark, you see, and thereafter the mark was permanent and binding; after the legal age it was impossible to make the parabatai bond no matter how good a match, and in her father's eyes no Parabatai was far worse than a pairing with anyone you just liked.

Alec and he had been different. From their first meeting, they had formed a palpable bound, something you could see as well as feel as the two fought together, moving as fluid as water. Jace could see himself beside no other person fighting for the rest of time, but Jonathan and Alec had already claimed one another before several of the reformed Clave members, and when the time came, the pair would stand before the council and recite the oath as their ancestors had before them and their successors would after them. But if not for that, Jace would have reached out for the boy, drawn him beside him to remain at his side for good. Alec had become his closest and dearest friend, which is why no other came before Alec in saving his master's daughter, the woman he had yearned for and pinned after since being brought into the house.

Knocking at the door, Jace half expected to be admitted immediately by the boy. Instead, nothing arose, not even a noise. Finding the door unlocked this time, he invited himself in. Did he need an invitation anyway? He had been asleep here just this morning. Surely that meant he was allowed to come and go as he pleased.

The room was tidy almost to the point of OCD ish, everything was pin straight in order and squared off with nothing that he could see askew, but he expected nothing less of the boy. He was his mother's son after all. Stepping into the immaculate room, Jace felt guilty again that he would probably mess something up on the other boy.

The only mussed thing in the room was the mound of blankets that were thrown at the bed rather than laid out, and the boy that huddled beneath them. Already asleep, the boy was swaddled in one of the thick blankets and he laid on his side, his back against the cool wall as he curled inward, his long fingers clutching the quilt right beneath his face as he breathed deeply, his mouth opened in a slight pout.

Jace would not just take the other boy's things without his expressed permission, but he wouldn't stay in his wet clothes all night. Stripping was his only option it seemed, until they could discuss the clothing issue. Silently, he began drawing off piece by piece, taking care to hang the leather up along the armoire doors and handles so it should dry mostly by morning.

Then, once certain everything was in order, the boy drew into the bed beside the dark- haired boy, trying to keep his distance on the twin bed but failing horribly as an ice cold foot touched one of Alec's warm ones, making the boy jump in surprise as he tried to recoil back to safety.

It was already too late. By time Jace had settled into the pillows, the boy had already been roused halfway. Sapphire eyes cracked open groggily to look at him before a goofy smile passed the boy's full, petal- like lips.

Alec had dreams that were similar to this, but this was beyond comparison. This was too good to be true; Jace couldn't be in his bed naked. That could not happen. Hell, in most of his dreams, the boy rejected him entirely, taking the traditional stance on his feelings for the other boy, despite the past experiences he knew the boy had. Snuggling into Jace, the dark haired boy sighed, content to feel the comfort of the boy's warm, muscular arm beneath his head while the dream lasted, to smell him while his mind swam dizzily, to taste his edgy breath as it panted wetly over his nose and cheekbones. He let go of the blanket in an uneven trade to hold the other boy, and his fingers curled in the golden locks near the base of his neck behind his right ear and against his neck at the edge of his collarbone. He would have kissed him now like he often did in his dreams, but the boy was so comforting this time, too real for his liking. It would hurt too much if he was rejected by this version of Jace, be too much like reality.

If he could just hold on to this Jace for just a few moments longer, everything would be fine when he finally melted away and he found himself alone once more. Just a little longer, and he would be able to recall the feeling of his bared flesh against his face, the way they almost melded together like two pieces of a yin- yang.

Sighing, he let his eyes flutter shut once more, resolved to remain as he was. That was until he heard it.

_**Felt it…**_

Yanking back, Alec forced his eyes open again. A heart was beating against his ear.

His reaction earned him a hearty laugh, and his right arm wrapped loosely around his waistline, shaking him gently after a moment.

"_**Alec… You 'wake?"**_

"Jace, you're wet." the voice groggily murmured as the thinner boy pulled away like the water was acidic. He drew the blankets after him as he sat up, rubbing at his eyes sleepily to remove the gunk in the corners. He was doubly glad he had not tried to kiss him now.

What was with this family and pointing out the obvious?

Half asleep, Alec couldn't gather what exactly was going on. Why was Jace in his room? Why _**was**_ he wet?

_**Why was he naked?**_

With a small pout he yawned tiredly, glaring lightly at the boy that was rising up to now sit beside him where they had been lying curled around one another seconds prior and again, he was thankful he was wearing his pajamas tonight. His thoughts had him mildly turned on and it was difficult enough ousting them. The last thought rang out in his head over and over again, but what escaped his lips at last was probably the most political way he could have mustered an answer to being woken up at eleven at night. "There was a clean towel in the armoire, you asshole."

"Alec, _**Clary's missing**_."

He decided to just cut to the chase and dove right into why he was there. Jace stared at the black- haired boy, waiting for his response. If anything, his lack of acknowledgement was the least likely scenario he imagined playing out. Where was the heart wrenching agony he had felt, the desperation? He and the Lightwood children were the oldest friends she had; he had imagined they would feel the same as he had. The other boy stared at him for a moment; his expression was lax from the awe Jace had expected and he left his mouth ajar for several minutes before he felt compelled to talk, "Yeah I know. It's terrible. Mom told me earlier."

Silence fell upon them and this time it was Jace that just stared as Alec got up out of bed and moved to the dresser. He dug through it, glancing at tags as he shifted things around in his search, tossing things he had deemed acceptable onto the armchair at his desk.

A blue and black boldly striped knit shirt found its way into his hands, a gift from Jace himself from his birthday in fact, and the soft, slightly worn fabric wrinkled knowingly in his hands when the other boy chose at last to speak.

"You didn't tell me?"

He sounded hurt. Shaking his head, Alec turned back to the bed to offer the long- sleeved top to the boy his mind had haunted him with now for years. He didn't take it. He just stared. "I couldn't let anything happen to you Jace. My mother told me to protect you and Izzy and Max. I did that. Even if it meant keeping you from harming yourself."

"Is that what you think?" Jace whispered harshly, coming to stand in front of the Lightwood boy, "That I would endanger myself? That I can't protect myself? How weak do you think I am?"

"You did, didn't you?" Alec asked, gesturing to the pile of clothes that hung haphazardly on his furniture. He had to drop a gross looking sock to open his dresser earlier, and the other articles had not surpassed his notice. They were _**still **_dripping water. "You're too stupid for your own good, sometimes. It's sleeting outside, Jace. Without the proper clothing, you're bound to get sick. Why are you here, anyway? What was so important that you couldn't wait until morning?"

Jace looked about to protest, but he knew Alec was right through and through. Taking the top, he slipped it on with a small word of thanks. Alec regretted the loss of skin, but he knew better than to leave the boy bare or else he probably would get very much sick. Perhaps he would be rewarded for his good care later, if he was good.

"Valentine."

The name didn't surprise him as much as it should have. Of course it had to do with his adoptive father. Alec was surprised that the boy hadn't more bruises to call rewards from his blatant disobedience, the way he remembered Jonathan limping around when they were kids and he mouthed off. Their father had a mean couple of hooks and when he got down and dirty he destroyed people. "Jace, you deserve to be treated better than this…"

He deserved better? What was Alec talking about? A weight rested on his forearm, and his golden eyes darted to the hand resting there which meant to be comforting. "He's assigned me the duty of returning Clary."

"When do we leave?"

"So you _**will **_come with me?" hopeful eyes looked to him. The excitement in the younger boy's eyes which illuminated them like a dying fire made Alec want to kiss him. How could he ever say no to the man he loved, the one he wanted? He couldn't, not now, not ever. Jace grabbed onto his pajama top so tightly that he could feel the warmth of his hands ebbing into the folds of the silk top. "Y' know, despite me being haphazard with my own well- being?"

"How could I leave you, Herondale? We've been planning this now for months." Alec rasped breathily, his hand coming to unwind a wet curl and settle it behind his ear, "Besides, someone has to make sure you don't get yourself killed on a wardrobe malfunction like earlier tonight."

A fist playfully slugged him in the shoulder and he side stepped the brunt of it with a laugh and a returned hit of his own.

_**XOX**_

One of the maids stood in the doorway, shaking as she covered her mouth, as if hiding half her face would reduce the likeliness that the master of the house would punish her later for this. She had failed him, in keeping his son from entering the office she had done nothing and now she feared the consequences of her ineptitude for the job.

His son was vengefully angry, and he shoved the woman out of his way as he barreled in, slamming the door between them with enough force to knock out a moose.

"_**WHERE is he**_!" Jonathan snarled, his hands slamming down on the desk. The tension in his shoulders stiffened down his entire back. He had been all over town now trying to track the boy down and he was nowhere to be found. Jace had never been apart for him for this long without his location being noted, and it did not settle even a little with him.

While his sister had gone missing, her replacement had gone AWOL as well and he wanted answers.

His father remained unbothered by his plight, looking casually at the journal he had in his hand as if he were in the coziest place in the world curled up without the slightest care in the world. His glasses hazed what he could see of the man as the fire light reflected in them, glinting new light over the page.

He grabbed the vase off the desk, sending it flying across the room when he was ignored long enough, casting broken pieces behind him along the bookshelf. Where it had struck, a crack now ran, crumbling slightly, and his father's gaze rose at long last to give him a neutral, dissecting look. It was a gaze he had been long used to in his father, as if he could read his mind reading his son's.

They both pondered the same question and gave the same response.

_**What makes you tick? What **_are_** you thinking?**_

_**You first.**_

The silence that rang out would have unnerved anyone else, but the father and son stared each other down, waiting for any sign of retreat. It was the third party in the room that finally broke the silence.

"Honestly, Jonathan!" Maryse cried, her head whipping upward to stare with her wide blue eyes in shock. The Morgenstern boy was never this rowdy, normally so in control of his emotions to the point that he seemed cool and collected. Now, she blindly picked out shards of ceramic, dropping them idly in the clean ash tray on the side table "Do try to control yourself. You're father's having a hard enough time of it without you-"

A hand raised and the woman fell silent immediately, looking to her master and lover for direction. "I've sent your brother along after her in your stead. With any luck, Jace will track her down and be back by the week's end, if my sources were correct."

His world was crashing down around him, and suddenly the gaunt boy felt like he couldn't breathe, couldn't even move or think. The only thing he knew was panic and pain. It became a mantra in his mind, furthering his pain by delving into the terror and panicking even more as the agony increased, forming a vicious spiral into the darkness he had no hope of crawling out from.

First Clary went and got herself stolen from him, and now Jace... his Jace went running after her, doing their father's bidding.

_**He was alone… so terribly alone.**_

_**None of these people understood. How could they?**_

His hand came to cover his mouth, the bony fingers rattling frailly together as the blunt nails bit into his upper lip as it began to shake uncontrollably, and he turned away, looking everywhere and anywhere as his eyes began to burn. He could feel the beast sleeping within him awakening, and soon, very soon, it would rip itself free and take control. He was weak, so very weak now, and he had no idea how he would make it through now.

_**When would they return to him? Would they ever be back to normal again?**_

The brevity of their absence was shattering him now. What would he do, now that he had no way to reclaim himself from the darkness ebbing closer towards his heart, ready to devour everything he ever knew and loved, the very man he had grown to be?

He turned to look at the case of needles on the desk with disdain. It was his only choice now, his only salvation; without clarity in the form of his brother and sister, he would have to endure the haze, the crash and burn. He had no other option. He was playing a losing game any other way.

Maryse reached out to touch the young man's shoulder, trying to ease his conscious and soul. She didn't understand how dark his evil lurked but he was obviously in deep pain. Her fingers touched the sharp plane just barely and he retaliated, swinging like a wild animal and struck her hard across the face. In shock, the dark haired woman back stepped into the chair she once occupied, stumbling against it, her eyes wide as her hand lingered across the painful, angry red mark spreading over her jaw. _**He had… struck her…**_

Glancing up, his father watched the turmoil bubbling through his son. Jonathan had never cried in his life, but now he shook with unshed sorrow. Setting his pen down, Valentine leaned into one of his open palms, his elbow resting on the mahogany desk as he thought out his options carefully. His son needed him, for the first time in his life that he could recall that hadn't been initiated by falsehoods or what he himself had done to the boy.

Looking to the woman hovering near the armchair, ready and willing to pounce on his son at any moment, to try her best at fixing the boy, jamming pieces that were long ago shattered back into a semblance of a boy, regardless of how nothing fit together anymore, he warily eyed her. What would she do, could she do for his son that he had not already attempted to do? He was a gorge, plummeting darkness in the shifting cracks that swallowed you whole if you got to near. Sitting upright, Valentine cleared the desk of the books he had been referencing, arranging them into a neat pile and put them away in the drawer with a blind hand locking the file. "Maryse, leave us."

The woman turned, wide eyes bright in shock as she stared at him in confusion, "But Vale-"

The man halted her, a hand loose in the air as to silence her, as he gently rose like smoke from his chair, his eyes down cast as he took to gesturing around the room, as if she ought to have already gotten the hint "Go. You ought to already have been searching for Clary."

"Why are you still here, Maryse?" Valentine whispered vilely, "Do you think you can replace my wife? My daughter? Why are you still here?"

She remained hesitantly where she stood at the center of the room, hovering. Jonathan had been raised alongside her children, she practically raised him. Her son or not, she cared for the boy's plight, mildly. She ought to open her mouth and retaliate, to set the record straight with her lover, but she didn't have the strength to rebel against him. He _**had**_ lost his wife and daughter now, and he was right. Perhaps she was being selfish.

"I said _**Get. Out**_."

Maryse stormed out of the room, leaving the two empty men alone together. The silence dragged on between them, reigning supreme as both stood facing each other, weighing their worth and strengths in comparison. Valentine was kind enough not to make a big deal out of the tears that now escaped the boy that he had beautifully destroyed and rebuilt only to watch him as he fell apart again now, and Jonathan did his best not to draw too much attention to himself, knowing it only embarrassed his father more. Weakly, thy younger man ran his sleeve over his eyes, swiping over his entire face with little care that he wiped away wetness that dripped from his nose as well as his eyes.

"Sit."

"I'd rather stand, thank-"

"I said sit, damn it!" grabbing the boy roughly by the arm, he dragged him across the floor and slammed him into the armchair, his strong forearm baring his son in the seat for several moments, to get the point across. When he released him, his son shifted inward, pulling his feet up onto the wide chair so his knees clanged together weakly and he was in a near fetal position, turning in on himself further when he wrapped his long arms about the thin legs before him, as he might have if he had been on his own in his room and not being held prisoner by his father's looming form.

His father fell to kneel at his feet, pulling gently at one of the arms he had wrapped around himself, outstretching the flesh of his forearm, leaving his son open and vulnerable. The hand that held his was warm, so like Clary's but it lacked the loving tenderness that hers did, even if he did feel cared for now in this moment. His father's thumb thrummed over the pulse point at his wrist as he gingerly prepared the pale flesh at his forearm like he had done for years. Jonathan watched him with blood- shot eyes, hateful of his weakness, and everything that the needle represented as it was drawn off of the desk, and cried out as it breached his flesh.

He couldn't help but begin to shake as he felt the familiar sting, the burning that overtook his arm like his father was plunging his arm into a furnace and held it there, forcing him to endure the agony of his flesh melting from the bone. His other hand shot up, weakly clawing at his father's arms and hands as he shoved him back into his seat for his own good.

_**It was for his own good after all.**_

As Valentine drew away at long last, the black- eyed boy gave out a heart- wrenching sob, something mixed between a cry and a choking noise.

It was the first time the boy had ever cried out. Probably the first time Jonathan had_** ever cried**_.

Drawing up again to the boy's side, Valentine felt like he had been a terrible father to the boy. They were both hurting, but it seemed that his son was going through a rough patch, something he hadn't had to endure yet. If he was another man, _**a better man**_, he thought bitterly, he would have been able to fix this. Hell, his son would not have had to go through this in the first place.

He remained still against him as the boy began to shake against his chest and his arms tightened around his frail frame. It had been years since he had been allowed this close, that he had even considered doing this. Too soon, he would black out and he would probably forget everything that led up to his waking up again.

With a firm hand, he drew the boy's disheveled head beneath his lips, kissing the white disarrayed crown of the boy he had created and destroyed on the single worst whim of his life.

This could have been his son, beautiful and weak and beside himself with emotions when the worst came upon him.

But instead he had breathed life into a monster.

_**XOX**_

_**Author's Note:**_

_**Hopefully I didn't let any of you down. The length of this thing began so monstrously that I had to cut it into two chapters. I decided this when I hit 8 k and saw the how long my outline was for the rest of the chapter. So the result is one massive chapter that will be cut in two without any nice, even ending and the conclusion half that will be nice and concise. The first part you get now and the other will probably début in a few weeks after when I find time to twerk it to my liking and fill in all the crannies that aren't connect just yet.**_

_**Not that this chapter didn't end perfectly, but I did some tweaking (and effective cutting, as there were blockier scenes when I first started) before posting to give it a bit of an emotional end.**_

_**I'm hoping for the second half to be released tentatively 2 weeks from Christmas in the States and possibly another chapter before Christmas, if I get the time to finish that up. With the holidays, I never know what my schedule will look like, but I have 6 engagements scheduled for my weekend life, and at work I can go as far as 55 hours a week in November and December, so that cuts down most of my writing to hiding in the corners drafting out notes when inspiration strikes and then writing on my breaks and the few hours I have when I get home. This whole season sucks. I love the holidays, but leading up to it you have to deal with a lot of crappy people working retail.**_

_**This was done a week earlier than planned, so maybe there is a bit of hope for the scheduled releases to be orderly and on time, but like I said, it might be off, just knowing the season.**_

_**Realized I have not been doing disclaimers.**_

_**I do not own The Mortal Instruments or its characters therein. I do however own this story, the OC's that have been introduced, and the words that strung it together. Do not steal my work, a lot of work went into this, and finally I in NO way make any profit from this.**_

_**Those OC's so far are (maybe Jonathan Wayland depending on how you look at it), Vianey and her two brothers Asa and Mica. Their backstory will evolve a bit more with the story. All of the other werewolves I have named, I tried to keep true to the story and timeline I have set. Those that were born werewolves would still be lycanthrope, those that were changed in say NY, would remain human unless a trade happens. More on that to come as well.**_

_**Amabel and Kito are legitimate characters too. Both small, small names: Amabel was the werewolf in the bar that came across the dead boy, and Kito was the pack leader before Veronique who was before Gabriel before Lucian. Bit humor in the comment I made for those that noticed that. For those of you curious, I don't have all of the werewolf Alpha's picked out, but I know Kito and Lucian are irrevocably ones, and have been considering Veronique. Maybe Gabriel as well. Any other ideas? There are 7 Alphas and one of them that rules over them all. **_

_**For those of you interested in what inspires me as I write:**_

_** playlist?list=PL7Rz4F_r0VOG1ceNQQOi6Uy2gaoOBPCEP**_

_**If the link does not show, simply search 'Me and Mine' in You Tube's search engine. It is the playlist with over 200 videos.**_

_**I get the feeling someone might have already stumbled on this, as it has about three thousand views already, but who knows. Maybe I just make a mean playlist.**_

_**Special thanks to my2guys for their continued support. I love hearing from my readers. Let's me know that there are actually people elsewhere that are reading and enjoying the effort I took in writing this.**_

_**If I am unable to post before, I wish you all a wondrous Thanksgiving for those of you who will be celebrating it.**_

_**I'm grateful for all of you. Much love to my readers and everyone that reviews.**_

_**Liked it? Review it, Follow it, Fave it.**_

_**Share that love.**_

_**Till Next Time**_

_**TAORI**_


	10. And Collapse

"_**For a star to be **_born,

_**There is **_one thing_** that **_must _**happen:**_

_**A gaseous nebula must collapse.**_

So collapse.

Crumble.

_**This is not your**_

destruction.

_**This is your **_birth_**."**_

_**n.t.**_

"ASA!"

The group was closing in behind her, blocking out all of her exits in a way she had not considered. There were too many of them. Why weren't they rampaging forward, taking her when she was unprepared by their number of force? She thought for a brief moment that perhaps she was over assessing the situation, that perhaps she should put her archaic blade down and listen to them for a moment so that they could clarify what was exactly going on.

_**'They had to have a reason for doing this'**_ she reasoned. _**'They can't all be that bad.'**_ She thought considerably of the way she had woken up. Obviously someone here had taken great care of her. She was covered and dressed still, and her hair was brushed. Although drugged, no other harm had been done to her but by her own hand. Maybe she was demonizing these people. There could be any number of reasons for her to suddenly wake up in a strange place, right?

The group tightened around her so that they were shoulder to shoulder and at least three people deep, and she heard the tell- tale sounds of growling, the snapping of jaws and her arm jerked up as she swept her arm towards someone that was much too close to her for her liking when she hadn't made up her mind just yet on them, catching nothing but air as the wolfish man with brown rimmed gold eyes backed off, only to circle her along the perimeter of the tightening circle.

Clary watched him, unnerved. He was the first to make a move, the first to likely strike her now too. He had put a target on his own head. Her hand tightened along the rock, and winced as it dug into her poorly wrapped hand, opening the edges of the wound with the pressure of her grip.

A soft voice broke through to her, and she whipped around to face a bewildered woman with wide green eyes that reflected her own surprise.

"_**Clary?"**_

"Mu- uum?" Her voice cracked bleakly, like she had gone days without water, but truthfully it was the strain. She could still feel the weakness heavy in her legs and her arms, and she swayed with the effort it took to stand as the tidal wave crashed around her and her bleary mind struggled to process why everything was happening and how to defend herself from the attack instinct told her was coming any moment.

She had not seen her mother since the day she had disappeared nearly seven years prior. The bitter reality that she forgot what the woman looked like hadn't bothered her as much as she supposed it should. She gathered pieces of her brother, of her grandparents and herself and tried piecing her back together. That collaboration gave face to her memories, made her connect to the woman she grew up without.

Jonathan remembered. He claimed Clary wasn't missing much by forgetting her. She wasn't that good of a mother to him, Clary supposed. All of her memories had been good ones, however, but Jace seemed to be of a similar mindset. They would have preferred her imaginary mother much more to the one that occupied their memories.

That vision, however, paled in comparison to the woman before her, but Clary knew immediately it was her. From what she could see of the thin frame in the darkness, it was angular in a delicate way, so much like her own body structure and Jonathan's. _**Ethereal.**_ That was the word for it. The woman looked at her through eyelashes as long and delicate as her brother's too, but her face was an older version of her own. Her pale, glowing porcelain- like face was like looking into a hazed reflection of herself, but Clary could feel her jaw slacken as she tried to distance herself slightly, and the woman before her hesitated, but remained firm in her resolve. Jocelyn stepped after her; the frail hand that had abandoned her short sword at her side looked thin and bare as she reached for her daughter.

The young girl's eyes were wide, and she held the shard of rock before her like a weapon, brandishing it as she would her own seraph blade. If someone didn't step down soon, there would be irreparable damage done. She would not allow the pack to tear her daughter apart, but she couldn't allow Clary to take the strike either. Her responsibility to the pack and her family weighed evenly in her heart now.

Someone her age followed after her mother, thin as rail, but curvaceous. She seemed horrified, her bright eyes huge and set into her face behind thick lashes. The girl had wispy black hair that fell past her ears, but though she couldn't remember exactly where, she swore she had seen the girl before. Her mother's attention diverted to the newcomer for a moment as she murmured her name and held her hand out to halt the girl from passing.

"Clary!" Jocelyn cried, rounding on her daughter. Despite everything else going on, she had thought that her presence alone would sway the girl. As her hand approached the child, she knew otherwise. Clary was wound tight enough to battle her way out of the wolf den, regardless of who she would have to do in to do it. She turned at the sound of her mother's voice, her eyes wide and frightened, as she held out the archaic instrument like a weapon, daring her wolf guards to come at her. Even from here, Jocelyn could see her pulse jumping erratically as her eyes dilated, darting around the room. She would have made her father proud. The thought sickened Jocelyn. Taking another step closer into the opened circle despite her own better judgment, she brought herself so close that she could touch the girl's arm if she wanted to, but instead rose her hands to show that she was unarmed, prepared to talk her down. "Come now Clary. Put down the rock and we'll talk about this like civilized-"

"You-you've been _**helping them**_?" she cried out at last, the sound of it breaking her mother's heart. Jocelyn didn't have to meet her daughter's gaze for her to fully understand the rage, the hurt that was straining her face in the most heart wrenching of ways. Tears were threatening to burn away what little control she had gained of the situation, and the elder woman wondered if the same could be said for her child. She shook like a leaf, but the makeshift blade blazed in her hand unfalteringly bright as she held it before her, and the smell of blood struck her. It dripped along the crystal to patter along the floor and her pajamas were in disarray, stained with muck and the crimson that seeped out from artificial cuts.

That was what must have drawn them all here. They thought that one of their own had been hurt, and had come in a hurry to defend, to protect their pack.

The thin woman touched her fingertips deftly to her lips, her eyes pinching with worry lines around the corners like they often did when her children were young, and it was so reflective of the expression she wore whenever Clary neared a sharp corner, or broken glass, or her brother when he was having an episode, like anything and everything would break her, that Clary took a step back, distancing herself from the woman that so resembled her mother, the woman that she had so loved and despaired over for so long, only to appear now when she needed her least. Jocelyn wore the face now, Clary realized, but even her mother knew she couldn't protect her.

She was grown now, and on her own. She would defend herself. The wolf that circled her, that had been among those that cornered her first decided then to approach, treading too near and the young girl swung downward in an arc aimed for where the beast's head had been before it lunged away, circling with a fiendish snap of its jaws.

"ASA!" a tall, thin man snarled, coming into the room by a balcony that Clary had not yet noticed, and down the stairway that had been cut into the rock walls with a predatory sway to his form. A thick, muscular black man and a boy that resembled the one before her with thick calves and shoulders to match and a long, drawn out frame followed up behind the man to stand guard at the doorway and at the end of the balcony he had entered from. The entire wolf pack seemed to twitch to his directive, falling in line despite the descending man's scrawny nature and the half turned wolf stepped down immediately at the sound of his name, swaying backwards towards the wall and melding into the outer ring of creatures both humanoid and canine gathered in an unbreakable heard, with its ears back but its eyes trained on the young Shadow hunter. Clary let her eyes dart around the room as the man came to stand a few feet away from her mother and stopped when she did not respond to his arrival. He seemed to be the alpha here.

Jocelyn was at a loss, just as she knew she would be. She couldn't turn to look at the new arrival, not yet. She could feel his concerned eyes on her, feel the way the pack responded to his nearness to her, like it was suddenly safe for her to be that close to a live weapon. Yes, she helped the werewolves. Yes, she left her daughter alone for many years. But she had returned in time to protect her. That's what mattered after all, that she was safe now.

"Clary, I had to! You have no idea what your father has planned, what he was going to, what he-ha-ha" she choked on her words, so near hysterics that the tall, ragged man that had appeared with wispy brown and grayed hair pulled her beneath his arm and then close to his chest when she had stopped resisting enough to do so, his large hand supporting the back of her neck as he strained her into his shoulder. She had tried her best to pull back, to wrench herself free, but the man was persistent, and once he convinced her, she seemed to meld against him like putty. As Jocelyn's head settled against his tan throat and pulled his shirt to her face, Clary saw the mark on his left breast bone, or at least enough of it to recognize what the symbol once had been.

It was pale now, scarred beyond reason like it had been branded with a red- hot fire poker over and over to remove it, clawed at until the flesh was ragged and bloody, but Clary knew that gentle upward sweep anywhere, _**a Parabatai rune**_. A sharp tingle in her arm reminded her of her own partner. What would bring anyone to that extent, to burn their flesh off to be free of the memory of their partner? The look of it hurt her too think of any reason that she would take such extreme moves to remove the flesh that Simon had marked.

Turning with wonder, she looked at the horror of her mother in another man's embrace, her head tucked exhaustively in his shoulder as her hands clenched in the fabric of his shirt, "You're another Shadow hunter!"

The man turned wide, silvery- blue eyes to look at her in surprise.

They held her for several moments, and Clary let the blade fall to her side. These were her own people, their missive the same. She could not harm her mother nor the man that held her, She knew neither of them really, but how different could they really be when they were raised to believe the same things? Seeing the change in the young red head, the way her body half slumped forward in defeat, the thin man pressed a soft kiss to her mother's forehead, he turned his grey- blue eyes to look at her, his hand strongly supporting Jocelyn at the waist as he nodded to the girl.

"It's proper time we've met Clary. I'm the pack leader here, Lucian Greymark. But as you're a part of my family, you can call me Luke."

The name broke something deep inside of her, as recognition flooded her entire system.

He was her _**father's **_parabatai. His _**dead**_ parabatai.

Clary ran.

_**XOX**_

The room swam in and out of his vision, groggily slamming him back into reality that he had failed himself again in a way that only he could. Jonathan didn't have half a clue how he ended up in his room again. He had a vague recollection of the strong muscles of his father 's chest holding him as he weakly fought him off, turned off by the idea of ever surrendering to the older man, but he could only assume that that had been the man trying to take him back to his bedroom, though the actual act was a haze.

One he wished he could forget.

This was nowhere as comfortable as using Jace or Clary, nor was it as pleasurable. With them, all parties walked away sated, or at least he did. Now, he was weak and in agony with no one around to soothe the flames that ate at him. His veins were a burning mass of agony still, but it was ebbing away at long last, the thrum of angelic power subduing him from the inside out. He couldn't lift his arms enough to scratch his nose, he was as weak as an infant child, but at least he had been thrown on the armchair comfortably, even if it had looked a bit carelessly. His leg was hitched shamelessly over one of the plush arms so that his foot un- tucked itself from under the fur throw that had landed haphazardly over his limp form. It was cold in the room, but he could do nothing about it as he was. He couldn't even hope that his legs would hold him right now

If he didn't know better, he would have thought he had a hangover, seeing himself hanging like he was. The thought brought a smile to his face. Perhaps that would help the edge, what with Clary and Jace both gone.

_**Gone. **_

His stomach tightened. _**Ah, yes. **_That was the reason he had broken down, the reason for his momentary weakness. He had vowed to never return to this, and yet here he was, muddling in agony. He had let his father do as he pleased and for what? So the man would hold him momentarily, speak endearing falsities that would tear him apart when he came to and realized that they were all lies as his father tore him apart? Jonathan never believed the lies that everything would be fine, not even when he was a child. Why had he bought them last night? Why had he even listened in the first place, when he knew his father only spewed lies?

Because Clary wasn't there to whisper softly, to make sure he knew that everything would be alright because she loved him, to be reaffirmed by Jace that there were things to fight for, to hold fast to your resolutions. He had no one now, no comfort. It was suddenly fine that he was freezing. Perhaps it would take away the pain at least for a little while.

Looking to the window off behind him, he had a good start when the wind outside moved his curtain, the flutter a sure fire sign that the pane had been left open. He vainly tried to order his body to obey, to get up to close the window and assess the likelihood that an intruder had passed into his bedroom and was still here. There was, after all, no way in hell that his father would allow any entrance to his home now.

He couldn't, still, not yet.

He heard the settling noise of fabric as it drew nearer. Feigning sleep, he let his head lull off to one side. He could smell them now, drawing nearer, the ripe smell of fruit, anise and blood, the mixture bitter and sweet on his tongue so much that it cut through the smell of the burnt wood in the fireplace at his feet. It made his breath hitch. They were practically upon him now, and he tried to lower his breathing to a lull as he felt a pressure settle over the arm opposite his legs, but he lacked the complete control he needed to complete the act. He jumped instead when a frigid hand brushed the underside of his eyelids sharply, a nail scratching out the path of the water line behind the finger tip.

Cool, soft pressure brushed his lips, and he fought hard not to make any noise as the intruder kissed him with a gentle, closed mouthed kiss. It was the kiss his mother used to give him and Clary when she tucked them in, the kind he tried to replicate with his sister before she demanded different treatment and he was the only one left to care for her. It was a heart wrenchingly warm action, one he felt incapable of but he gave his pale representation whole heartedly, because if the girl felt she was loved she would remain. The kiss didn't take nor give, simply it was, and made a statement of affection that he didn't know how to reciprocate with his family, let alone a stranger.

His jaw slackened and a tongue darted between his teeth as the cool hands petted him lovingly. He was tempted to kiss the soft mouth hovering over his, to deepen the delicate and withheld affection. Jonathan despised taking the submissive role, even if there was nothing for him to take from the other party.

After several moments the mouth left his, the warm pants of breath sweeping tickilishly along the bridge of his noise, rustling his eyelashes and the stark bangs that hung limply down his forehead. One of the cold hands entwined in his hair, claw- like nails scratching there too as the being lifted his head enough to pet the back of his neck.

"Open your eyes." A soft voice implored, so heavily accented and broken that he knew who it was immediately, and her hand brushed along his strong jaw and over his full lips to delve lightly along the edge of his teeth. Her blood dripped along the teeth she brushed. Had he unintelligibly bitten her or had she done it herself? The taste of her blood was bitter like she smelled, and it was salty on his tongue. It made the ragged feeling in the back of his throat go away, like smothering a fire. A soft weight settled in the curve of his hips and he could feel the warmth and curves of the female that straddled him. The drastic change in temperature made him shiver. "It's _**me**_, love."

His breath rushed up to meet her teasing finger, and his tongue darted to swipe the drip of blood gathering along the pad before it had the chance to drip to the back of his throat. The act made him feel all the more cannibalistic, all the more wickedly inclined. She didn't seem to mind, as she left her hand where it was. _**"Aline. You're bleeding."**_

"_**And you've been poisoned. I'm fixing the problem."**_

Her tone was bitter, as if she knew he had done so to himself, that he was incapable of taking care of himself, but perhaps he was. His head lolled back as he let her do as she pleased and she cut her palm with a blade, pressing it to his lips. Admittedly, the life blood she gave him was making him feel better. It was like Novocain was being wiped away from the inside of his being. She seemed displeased with him, but felt that she was helping the situation. Jonathan was unsure which actually was helping him more at the moment, time or the gore dripping languidly down his throat.

"You didn't come." Aline whispered softly. She mutely slid lower, her head laying tenderly on his chest , her dress the loudest part of her as it shuffled back into place beside him with her face within reach of his own, "When you didn't show I got worried-"

"Yeah, I had other things I had to deal with." He cut her off, already tired of her and her games. He had no doubt that she would surprise him again, but he didn't have the strength to go anywhere let alone entertain. If she knew enough of what he had done, then surely she knew that there were things that came before her, a practical stranger.

"_**Obviously."**_

She seemed bothered by the brush off, miffed in a way Clary never got. Her eye twitched as she rearranged her skirt, thinking carefully about her words in a very off- putting way. Were many women this way? Everyone he knew just outright said what they thought to him, at least the ones that mattered did, and if the others didn't what did he care? He wasn't listening to them anyways. "Well perhaps we can go now and-"

"You need to leave." He still didn't have enough strength to lift his own head, let alone go gallivanting around god knows where doing who knows what with a psycho little tart who climbs in uninvited into other people's-

Suddenly, he was full of strength, and his body shot up abruptly alert as he looked about the room, panicked. How could he have been so blind? _**She had**_ slipped into his room unnoticed by anyone. It was too close for comfort that she appeared only a few days before, a new face from a distant land, and the very same day she had come his sister and her plaything disappeared, stolen from her room.

The tiny girl withdrew, obeying him for once since he had met her. "Don't let him poison you again, my love."

"_**FATHER!" **_his voice almost broke as he tried to follow after the girl out. It was too late, however. By time he was on his feet, the young girl had disappeared out the window, disappearing into the brush below. _**"MARYSE!"**_

But it was already too late, even if someone did come, the girl was gone and he had no strength to stop her, and he was left with the knowledge that who had stolen his family, his peace from him, had just kissed him, fed him their blood.

_**And he had liked it.**_

_**XOX**_

There was no direction that she had given thought to, she simply ran, shoving the shell-shocked werewolves out of her way in her desperate escape. Some fell to the ground, a few jumped out of her way, and others collapsed into one another as they scrambled to follow after her. She couldn't be caught, she couldn't go back. Her mother was betraying her father with his Parabatai. The thought was nauseating, and just added more fuel to her need to escape.

She took the path down unknowingly, only knowing forward and away, and back.

The sound of feet slapping against the wet slate stone behind her echoed rapidly, melting away to a fluid pounding noise that she could only assume was that of the werewolves giving over to the change to track her down, some taking alternative paths as she was too far up to know for certain which way she went.

Only a few footfalls reached her ears now, and though she refused to stop or reduce her speed, it eased her worry that they would catch her and punish her disobedience. Group think was big with Lycanthropes and the subcategories of the species like Kitsune and Nekomata, and going against an indirect order was punishable at worse by death.

She could hear a voice of one of her pursuers, a female that cried out sharply, begging her to stop. How she wished she could listen to the voice for a moment, turn back and head back to where it was brighter, closer to the surface. It was getting colder the further she went and the damp air had a stench to it that was starting to churn and tighten her stomach in a way she had yet to experience.

The light at her feet had dulled to palely guide her way but not enough now that her location was given away. It made her momentarily curious as to why when something sharp scraped her wrist.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Clary almost gave a shout of fright. She'd expected a wolf to have caught her, or something humanoid. What met her gaze was canine but it was not a werewolf. The eyes that stared blankly in her direction were blood red and milky looking, set off by the set of exposed, shark- like teeth that were bared at her as the beast ran along her side, awaiting its next chance to attack.

With a sharp cry, she roundhouse kicked it away from her, scrambling to keep moving as the sight of what followed her was much worse than what she had initially assumed.

_**Hell hounds,**_ six of them.

"Clary!" Looking up to the balcony above half in panic, she saw the thin girl that had accompanied her mother running after her, her face wildly responsive to her surroundings, "Clarissa, DUCK!"

The red head obeyed just in time to almost miss what was going on. With a slick move, she grabbed hold of the railing and threw herself off of the second floor. The black- haired girl dropped atop one of the monstrous dogs like she mounted it to ride, her ankles digging in hard as it fought to throw her off of its back, and the girl collared it with a bit of chain that seemed to appear out of nowhere, and then she strained upward until its head entirely snapped off and its headless body crumpled to the floor as the thin girl rode it down. The severing of the head left them both covered in a splatter of blood, and the girl tossed aside the mount she had slayed. Clary got a better look at the sword the girl was using when a second demon dog came at them. The hooked blade swung out of nowhere, slamming through the beast's head and then threw it into the wall as the spinning girl withdrew the blade in the same twist, and in the next fluid motion from rising from the strike grabbed the Nephilim by her shoulder and slammed her expertly into the wall and to safety as she slashed another of the beasts as it tried to leap on top of them. The blade caught it in midair by its rib cage and it gave a sharp cry of pain as she yanked the blade upward. Blood exploded over her again, and she tossed it to the side as well. For a brief moment, Clary thought of Isabelle fighting beside her, until the sharply boned girl leapt up and turned to glare at her for a moment. In under a minute she had cut down three demons.

"LUCIOONNN!" she bellowed out her warning, her voice desperate and heavy with tension as her breast heaved as she scrambled up after another of the beasts that tried to evade her by climbing up the wall, "THEY'VE BROKEN THROUGH THE GATES!"

The thunderous sound of hundreds, if not thousands of creatures rose up in the hallway as the pack responded in turn to the girl's cry. Clary could hear them, the sound of them rushing to help their sister in her fight. There were more of the hell hounds coming, seemingly to have melted from the walls, and those that the girl in the over sized clothing were melding back together again and rising to join the battle.

A rumble sounded louder and nearer as the werewolf pack arrived, crashing into the fray one by one. Glancing for a moment around the room, she saw the wrath, the fierceness of those that had arrived. They would protect, they would win. Her savior had melded into the mob, and Clary lost sight of her, but hoped she would be alright.

Without a second glance, Clary took a last ditch effort to escape as everyone nearby came crashing into the small tunnel.

"_**CLARY!"**_

Deeper she ran, ignoring the familiar bite at her skin as the demon's acidic blood ate away her thin clothes. Her lungs were beginning to burn, the exhaustion setting in deep within her muscles as she tried to flee further and farther, and she yanked the top off as she went, abandoning it against a wall.

Too soon, she came across an iron bared gate, the scroll work as decorative as it was practical, winding swirls that imitated an inferno. She found it open, and slid behind the door, shutting it right away. The click of the lock barely worried her as her heart raced, already having been attacked by one of the most well-known tracking demons. Clary let herself rest momentarily, her head falling against the grate as she took in the surroundings that had eluded her thus far. Something was inscribed in the metal, the delicate churning of the iron almost made it impossible to make out, but once she recognized that it was words, she paused, trying to make sense of it. She wasn't very good at foreign languages, let alone dead ones. That was always her brother's thing and later, Alec's when he started devouring every book in sight and had already gone through everything her father owned in the English language that Jonathan would lend to him.

_**Facilis decensus Averni…**_

It churned her stomach mutinously. What did it mean?

Deciding to move on, the girl stumbled weakly down the slope as she tried to push the nagging feeling away. Somehow, she felt like she had heard those words before, like she ought to know them well. As she moved, the air seemed to thicken, and she found herself running her hands over her biceps to warm herself. Blood was sprayed over the walls, and seeing the amount of it through the shadows made her all the more nauseous but she was determined to overcome it.

Pained and tormented noises clamored all around her, echoing through the downward slope, the clamoring melody of battle as the werewolves beat out their enemy. She could not go back, not now that blood had been spilled because of her. Her only choice was forward.

The salt in the air was thick as well, like that of the sea, with an underlying smell of decay. The rot did nothing for her stomach, and Clary found herself wondering if this was where the hell hounds had come in fro-

Her eyes widened when the meaning of the Latin words began to wrap themselves around her delicate mindset. _**The descent into hell is easy…**_

Suddenly panicked, she turned, rendering all of her strength into escaping back the way she came as all of the warmth seemed to seep out of her very pores. Figurative or literal, she did not want to stick around and find out what lurked in the beyond that had made someone hang a warning on the gate.

Clary heard the cries again, closer this time, and she knew they came from her side of the gate instinctively. Spinning around, the girl brandished the weapon that would do little in the way of protection, but it did the worlds of difference for her morale.

Something wet and hot panted over her neck, raising the tiny hairs that ran along her spine. Dread filled her in those moments and Clary froze up trying to remember all of her training. Instinct demanded she turned and fought the monster off, or run off to safety. Instead she stood frozen where she was, and she felt whatever it was sidle up against her, slimily slipping past her back into the darkness. She got enough of a look at it to recognize the slickness to its neck that still ran along her five feet off, and as it diverted away she had a good look at its sightless eyes, sunken in all over its flat skull. It moved for her only exit, and when she had enough of a moment to settle herself, a second head flickered by just out of the shadows. A third followed it, flicking around her other side and she got a much better look at its fanged grin that dripped gore. After that she gave up counting the thrashing mass of heads as she caught sight of them thrashing about her from all sides, the monstrous demon blocking her only escape.

At least that explained the rotting smell that had been getting stronger. A Hydra demon, and it knew she was there and was waiting for her to make the first strike.

Her inactivity bored it, and it gave a noise of discontent, a sharp cry that began with one flailing head and ended with them all calling to one another in unison, the strength shaking the entire tunnel. Rubble became to fall from the ceiling, but Clary doubted it would bring in the ground it stood on just yet. It desired to destroy, to obliterate first.

Turning just in time, she raised her arm to defend herself as one of the serpentine heads struck out at her. The shard in her hand blazed and fire flared out, engulfing her in a whirlwind of heat, spreading like wildfire to her attacker. The head was ashen, whipping about as it slammed helplessly against the wall. Another took its place and Clary found herself running back away from her known exit as it gave chase.

She heard someone reach the gate, and the struggle was evident. It was locked tight, and no one would save her. Terror was so close to bubbling over, of consuming her completely. She was utterly alone, utterly defenseless. "CLARY!"

The female cry that called out to her was unmistakable, but she didn't have the time to stop, she didn't even have the time to properly escape. Ignoring her mother, she forced her muscles to move faster in vain. Something caught her, and she screamed in her descent, hitting the ground hard as she scattered along the ground like a rag doll. This time her attacker wrapped her up in a tight coil and tried to throw her, but she had half expected this after she had fallen. Spinning onto her back, she stabbed downward with the rock before withdrawing it to repeat the process. Or at least, she would have if she had not taken a shock.

She no longer held her archaic weapon, but a short seraph blade, glowing with her heavenly wrath. What appeared to be heavenly flames lashed out from the blade and as she began to withdraw it blazed brighter with a sizzling noise that crackled beneath her hand. The hydra threw her in that moment, but back to the ground as her weapon threw it off kilter and it disappeared from sight, still embedded in the monster's thick flailing neck near the hole in its head she could only guess was an ear hole.

It seemed to consider her momentarily with a chattering noise in the back of its throat. It appeared to be laughing at her as they stared each other down. The hydra coiled then, retrieving a mass from somewhere it kept, the body churning into a knot that reminded her of intestines.

For that moment she was given a reprieve with the single head watching her with its unseeing eyes. Looking at its scaly face, Clary watched intently for any movement or sign of attack, and too soon her vision began to blur.

At first she, assumed it was displacement from the drugs they had given her earlier. She swayed dizzily, waiting for the strike, and symbols took form, floating in the depths of the creatures flesh as it rose above her to strike.

She screamed as it came down upon her, and her injured hand came up to shield herself from the attack she could not pray to deflect. This was the end. There would be no more Clary. The girl's mind groggily clung to her demise, and thought of the glory of dying in battle. It was not honorable, it was stupid. She had yet to live her life and here she would die a worthless death. The creature was seconds away from devouring her whole. Only one thought occupied her hazy mind; live. Survive.

"RAZIEL!"

She cursed that which made her, for damning her people to this existence, just as the jaw of the massive snake began to clench down. They practically worshiped him, but where was he now? Her father was right to rebel. Their father had abandoned them, had given them the shortest of the sticks and stuck them with the biggest responsibility with barely any prayer to succeed in his mission. The Angel expected the world from them, but refused to even walk among them, to give them strength.

What kind of a father was that?

_**Hers…**_

She waited for the inevitable end, but nothing came. The beast sat above her, jaws prepared, but something had struck it still. It cried mutely and her eyes went to the glowing blade still embedded in one of its many necks. It was glowing brighter, red hot and the girl realized what she had named it in her wrath. A violent fire raged, whipping outward as it spiraled toward from her, charring everything in its path.

There were only a few moments of agonized screams and thrashing before the heads fell to the ground in crumpling falls. Taking in what she had done in shock, the girl looked to the smoldering husks that remained of the demon kind that had come after her in the dying embers of the fire. The blade had went out, and only a few moments lasted of the glowing light. It was all she needed to be sure that she was safe.

The gate that she had slammed shut earlier broke open at last, and her mother and Lucian burst forth, prepared to fight. Lucian had pulled twin chakrams on a long length of chain from his belt and Jocelyn was in the midst of yanking out a short sword of her own, when they gave pause, looking about the smoldering rooms.

Nothing remained.

"I told you, Lucian!" came her mother's voice, as she shoved the blade back into the sheath she had halfway pulled out, "I just knew he did something to her too."

Luke looked around the room in awe, nothing but his surprise coming from him. The girl had somehow destroyed everything without raising a hand to defend herself. She had been left nothing, after all. Looking to the girl, they were thankful that she seemed still intact, albeit shaken. Her clothes hung off of her in rags, and her arms grasped at her elbows with a strength that cut her arm with her blunt nails. The broken voice shook her mother and she said something under her breath as she stared across the room. The two ex- Shadow Hunters followed her gaze to where it fell among the ashes, but saw nothing. Her mother tentatively stepped towards her, stripping out of her jacket to offer the frail girl.

"What was that Clary?"

Clary heard the voice call her name again, tugging at her uselessly. She could do nothing more but stare as an image burned in the back of her mind. Its power could be of no other, and the realization calmed her as her mouth formed the name one more time. The blade glowed lightly across from her and she smiled at it. In her hand she had invoked the angel that had forsaken them all to this world.

The jacket was thrown over her shoulders but she could not feel its warmth. Her mother tried to shake her into speaking, her hands firmly gripping her thin biceps above her own grasp. Luke came over as well, and embraced her by the neck as he tried to draw the girl's face closer for inspection. "Come on, Clary, your scaring your mother. What do you see?"

Her bright eyes rolled into the back of her head and for a moment, they assumed she was just momentarily resting. "Raziel…."

She felt the responding light burning bright, like it was boiling through her veins. She had seen the face of her maker, the strength of his hand. The adults looked to each other unseeing, in confusion, but she saw, she felt. He was in her lifeblood as he always had been.

And then she crumpled like a rag doll to the floor.

_**XOX**_

It was _**hours**_ earlier than daybreak when the pair of boys began to rouse for their journey. Sleep had been minimal once they had settled back into bed.

Jace had found it hard to sleep in the other boy's clothes. Alec was much thinner than he appeared to Jace, and although they hit about the same height, the muscular density in Jace's lower half was almost twice what the blue- eyed boy had, but the sweater had been the right size, albeit a bit baggy at the shoulders and the hands where the other boy filled it out better and tugged at the sleeves. While Jace found problems with the attire he was attempting to sleep in, Alec struggled with the condition of it. He had never shared a bed with anyone short of his sister when she was very young and crawled in afraid from a nightmare when he had been well off to sleep, and the circumstances surrounding this time made him very nervous. The object of many a wet dream was still half naked in his bed, and had been rolling half the night trying to find a comfortable enough position in too tight bottoms before he ended up yanking them off and settling on sleeping in the sweater and his boxers. His turning and tossing had been very much like grinding and the action made Alec very much aware that there was another boy willingly sleeping in his bed.

What would Jace do if he kissed him, held him like Jonathan did? Would he allow it, would he participate? His questionable answer came when at long last the blonde had settled down for the night and rolled, nuzzling into his satin top, his hand falling to hold the thinner boy's hip in a carefree manner that made the boy want to cry in relief.

Alec was first to wake, still wrapped around the tanner boy like a tangled knot, fingers laced in hair, arms and legs interlocked as they tried to press as close to one another as possible. He tried to draw away and became very much aware of the wood he was sporting when Jace gave a noise of complaint and latched his leg over his hip to keep him in place.

He wanted to curse and thank whatever deity or figure in heaven that had thought this would be the gift to give him this morning and the hands of fate that made it happen. On the bright side, at least this time he could play it off that it was a warmth and friction issue that had roused him.

By the angel, he was going to look like a sex deviant.

With an innocent shift, they brushed together and the boy groaned deeply, the sound stifled as he bit down hard on his lip. It wouldn't do to wake the boy making sexual advances on him when he had felt safe here last night. Alec would never get the chance to attempt any of this again if Jace felt violated. The movement of the thin boy's hips had roused him, however. With a groan of agitation, the golden haired Nephilim tried to feign sleep for a few moments longer, hoping he would be allowed a few moments of peace in the safe embrace he had found for himself. Without opening his eyes, he knew Alec had already woken and was trying to slip away without waking him, and the hand at his back had tightened to try to anchor and offset the movement.

His eyes opened and the boy smiled warmly at Alec as he snuggled closer for the few stolen moments he had promised himself. It was nice to have someone hold him without ulterior motives for once in his life. Alec had always been that way, though, always there to offer him an arm or a shoulder. His pleasant warmth was short lived and he regretfully drew away, leaving Alec wondering what had caused the withdrawal. Jace pulled away quicker than he thought possible for two people in their position, throwing his pants back on that were still dangling from the dresser at lightning speeds with the deft ease that only he could put them on with.

"Aren't you going to shower?" Alec found himself asking, the thought giving him a painful reminder of what was going on below. Hmmm… _**Naked Jace in his shower**_. Make _**that**_ now three wet dreams that would come true within the short span of twelve hours.

The other boy had other plans however, and he innocently pulled off the sweater only to quickly pull hit tee shirt back into its rightful place, "Naw, I was going to do that when I got back to the manner. I completely forgot about supplies."

He turned back and flashed a very familiar, cocky smile, "While I look fabulous in this jacket, it can't be the only thing that gets us by."

With that he ducked out of the room, leaving his jacket and shirt where they were. It was probably all for the best anyway. It would give him time to gather the needed strength to mentally prepare himself to go on the mission as well as pack.

Yeah pack…

Throwing caution to the wind, the boy dove back under the covers to deal with things on his own terms. Jace would knock this time at least.

_**XOX**_

Vianey, the wolf girl who had saved her from the demon dogs, watched her from the bedside in a fold up chair turned backwards, her arms folded across the back where her face rested half tilted as she stared at her, on guard. Clary hadn't noticed it earlier, having been busy trying to escape her pursuers, but there were four viscously ragged scars that ran sharply from her jaw bone up over her nose and finished from the crease of her eye to almost in her hairline, and her hair had been shorn raggedly from the lengthy pixie cut she had sported when Clary first saw her to nearly bald along the right side of her head to a to clean up the damage the acid of the demon blood had done. Her lips whispered soft murmurs against the raised hair of her forearms and her long eyelashes fluttered softly over the most vividly stark hazel green eyes she had ever seen, a trait the girl must carry to her canine form and they cut into her sharply, making it very hard for Clary to go back to sleep. She was pretty at least, very pleasant to look at despite the scarring, and Clary found herself wondering why she made no attempt to reduce the bluntness of her mutilation.

She also seemed to be a very good watch dog, no pun intended. The other girl watched her attentively, her attention focused and unswayable from her despite the indifference she had initially given on. Clary had no doubt that this time she'd be caught before her feet touched the ground. Vianey was giving her the benefit of the doubt for now, but should she act out the girl would have no problem over powering her. Even still, there was something edgy to her posture. The way her eyes shifted uneasily around the room, calculating everything from the way Clary was still laying down to how many cracks were in the wall and how many steps outside the other guard stood, the red head could only guess what wicked things she had once been involved in and it made her uneasy to be left alone in the same room. Blood coated the underside of her nail beds, and despite being probably about her age, the girl carried herself like a warrior that had experienced many losses and many more wins.

They were talking outside again, but the humming whispers cut out all recognition. She seemed to know what she was doing, but Clary still caught her name on the guards tongue and the mention of the decaying demons below.

After a while, the whispers were beginning to form words she never thought she would hear something forsaken utter and the name of god became a mantra on her tongue.

"Thank you for saving me." This couldn't go on like this forever. She had to break the silence somehow, but the girl was not forthcoming. Her eyes fluttered shut and she sat back, her head falling back as she breathed in deeply. The long column of her neck seemed inhumanly swan- like, and its thinness was accented by the chain mail that sat along her throat like a collar.

"That's a very pretty necklace," Clary began unsteadily, her eyes looking to the fine woven chain that fell to her sternum where a large opaque gem shone softly by the firelight. An inch of chain dropped from the gem to dangle a small silver pendant that appeared to be a pronged four leaf. The older girl's eyes opened unnoticed to stare hard as if offended, as Clary focused all of her attention on the dainty gem that sat over her heart, trying to recall the origin of the symbol and of the stone. Truthfully, she was trying to make small talk but she had to contribute more or else she'd look like a vain twit, and there was something familiar. "Is that a moonstone?"

"Your father _**killed**_ mine," the girl snarled softly. Clary half expected fangs to have been exposed but If they were, then they didn't glimmer in the moonlight like she had originally believed. "You would have killed my brother too if it were not for the Alphas. We can't be friends, _**Nephilim**_."

Silence fell over her. It was true, she couldn't say otherwise. Her brother Asa hadn't been pulling any punches either, though. Was she supposed to just let him get away with whatever he liked because she was their Shadow hunter captive? Drawing up, Clary sat on the mattress stiffly, drawing her knees up with her feet tucked close to her rump. Her hands idly picked at the thick, wool knit blanket. His death would have been her doing, however. She had started it, she supposed. Had that been what happened to the olive- fleshed girl's father? It was also true that her father wasn't one to grant leniency to anyone. The werewolf legacy was enough cause to cut down any man to her father, if it was enough to cut ties with his Parabatai. Was there really much difference between what she had done?

"I'm starting to see that the Morgenstern family has been solely responsible for many destroyed lives. I'm sorr-" Clary turned from staring at her knees to the smirking wolf girl; she was staring at her now with wide disbelief, her eyebrows nearing her short hairline. The intensity of the gaze made her choke on her words, and she quickly swallowed her apology.

The werewolf was confused but didn't voice the quirkiness of the statement, chopping it up to some case of post trauma that severed the few working parts of her brain from stringing together effective responses to what was being said to her; Vianey and her wolf pack had known from day one that their beloved Alpha Luke Garroway was once Lucian Greymark, an intelligent Shadow hunter with lethal precision with chakrams, but that name had died with his parabatai's betrayal. But that far off look in the girl's green eyes set her on edge again. Her words were haunted, distant enough that no one would be able to console her. She had been calming down at long last in the thin girl's presence, and now she couldn't help but cringe.

Clary had _**fried**_ demons. No one had seen her do it, but it was the only explanation to what had happened. The girl that had been too weak and slow to protect herself from a single hell- hound had seemingly obliterated a small army that had come for her. What could she do to protect herself against such a holy warrior? It humbled her, it scarred her silly. Jocelyn and Luke both swore up and down that it would be safe for her to stand watch beside her until the girl woke up again, but she had not believed it.

She was sorry? She wanted forgiveness for herself and for her bloodline, to be friends?

These were not ideals that Shadow hunters were supposed to uphold.

The girl was in her face, staring up at her expectantly. After a moment, Clary sat forward and laid her hand on the willowy arm that still laid cross the top rail of her seat in a manner that the other girl had expected would be settling, but only wound her tighter. The brief touch startled her, and the black- haired girl leapt up, disrupting her chair as she stumbled away and slapped the offending hand away.

The green eyed girl would have apologized again, and her lips were already moving to form yet another reparation, but the elder girl was already hardening her heart, backing away. The movement almost knocked the chair off kilter, but she didn't care. She promised to stay until the brat was awake, not until she wormed her way under her tough skin.

"It's fine." Waving her off, Vianey stood up and walked towards the door as fast as she could manage without appearing desperate to flee. How could she leave her like this? It was obvious that there was something deeply bothersome lurking in her mind. Pausing, she hesitated at the doorway, and turned a reassuring smile on the girl warmly as she pressed her forehead into the door frame and twisted to look back at the red head. Her face was so serene and her pretty eyes glanced to the hand that held the door frame, to her wrist where there was a scrolled saying tattooed on her smooth flesh. She seemed to have all of the tension meld out of her person and when she next spoke, it shook the younger girl, "Your father's a good man now. That's what_** really **_matters, Clary. That he's repented and is seeking amends. You cannot hope to change his past or the impressions that he gave but he can atone. That's the humanity in all of us, Downworlders to Nephilim and their human charges, the ability to atone before our king, our god. It's a wonderful thing, his forgiveness."

"You have marks?" the young girl's voice asked softly, her eyes trained on the expanse of black the winded in elaborate swirls beneath her sleeve. How far up did it go, and what exactly did it say?

She seemed shaken and her other hand came up and covered the tattoo with embarrassment, "No. Just _**one**_."

With that, the girl was gone, the flash of brown and black as the door swung closed the last thing she saw as the darkness rolled in over her. She should have chosen to lay back down again, to try to sleep, but there was no use with the words churning in her mind

_**Forgiveness for the past...? **_

Falling back against the plush bedding, Clary sighed as it rose up to meet her, melding like a pool of thick flannel and worn cotton around her, as she let her head wrap around the meaning of her words.

_**XOX**_

"Jace." The boy had halted, ceasing their progression. Alec was looking over his shoulder back the way they came, and the other boy in question came back to stand beside the cool- eyed boy to look back at what made him halt their progress. _**Isabelle.**_

The raven- haired beauty was quickly approaching, covered head to toe in gear that clung like a second skin to her body and Jace could see the gold flash of electrum sizzle at her knee. She looked positively livid, but they didn't need to see her face to know that. Her weapon told them all they needed to know, as it flicked this way and that with the force and erratic movement of a feline's tail. The fury in her snappy, jerking movements was reminiscent of a breath of air beneath a blazing fire, and the energy around her almost crackled with her upset.

"You are _**not **_going without me. They took Clary from me too. She's my parabatai. _**You don't**_ get to tell me to stay home _**and do nothing**_, Alec, you _**don't!**_ I wouldn't expect you to stand idle if Jonathan was taken, I expect the same courtesy."

She sounded so exhausted, so wound taught, but her voice was sharp like a knife. It had been only hours since she had been taken, but it appeared like a week's worth of sleepless nights were closing in on the lithe beauty. She spoke like it was taking more work staying angry with her boys than she had energy for. Her black eyes leveled them furiously nonetheless and Jace looked from sibling to sibling waiting for the pin to drop.

"I would stay where I was told. _**Even if it had been**_ Jonathan that had been taken." Alec ground out gently with an edge of bitterness to his tone, shooting a daring glance at Jace. For a moment, his sister could have sworn he would send her off without a second glance. She had never seen him like this before, so stern. It was too much like she remembered their father being when he was around, when he had a strong enough will about something. He used to be that way about Valentine. Now, their father could care less. "The law is hard, but it is the law. You think Jace or I would go gallivanting around the country chasing shadows if it hadn't been charged to us?"

The brutal honesty of his answer floored his two companions, but it had been true. They were but children still, and their only responsibility was to stay home and be safe. Missions that were delved out to those older than they were normally small and unimportant tasks that left alone or had failure would not result in the Nephilim's death. He no longer would have struggled with a separation with Jonathan either. His priorities had shifted to Jace now, even if he was devoid of the ability to face exactly what that meant for him at the moment. Looking to the boy, he had found his answer ready enough, as the tightening in his stomach dissipated when the taller boy met his eyes and returned the look with an amber gaze that spoke volumes. Jace was waiting for his real response instantly; he would let Alec decide whether or not Isabelle would tag along with her elder brother and play Nephilim soldier.

He loved Jace, irrevocably so. Without the boy to have insisted it, he wouldn't be out here in the cold himself. As it were, he was finding himself arguing for and against turning back now. This was not a mission for Shadow- hunters their age, none of them would argue that small fact, but they were very much dazzled by the reward. The end definitely justified the means this time, but it didn't mean that he struggled with accepting the blatant sacrifices he would have to make and take a definitive step forward towards that goal. But Jace needed him, and who was he to deny the only person he had ever loved other than his siblings and mother?

"We couldn't keep you from going even if we wanted to, could we?" Folding his arms over his chest, he looked away from Jace. He prayed the boy would never see the way he looked at him, the way his eyes seemed to wrap around him always. It would be too much to admit his feelings; it was too much already remaining as close to him as he had been.

The girl gave him an exasperated look and shook her head. No, she would not be left behind this time or any other. With or without them, she would go and look for the missing girl on her own. It only made more sense to increase their numbers, however. They were stronger in groups than on their own.

"Fine but if anything happens to you Izzy, I swear I'll kill you myself." Relenting, the dark haired boy threw his hands up, exasperated with the entire situation. He snatched the backpack that Jace had gathered with a viciousness that startled the other boy and his sister and hefted it forward for her to take it before snapping at his sister, "And you're cooking all the meals too!"

The girl's face blossomed with joy, her lips spreading to expose a brilliant smile as she bounced with her excitement. Quickly, she threw her arms around Jace, rocking him onto his heels as she nearly exploded with joy. She moved from one boy on to her brother, before spinning and taking a high speed walk away, intent on leading them away towards one of the many edges of the forest.

They would have followed her too, had the blonde boy not had other thoughts invade his mind other than the adventure ahead. Jace paused, his head dropping off to the side as his face scrunched in confusion as his eyebrow raised and he looked back at the girl, "Wait, how _**did**_ you know where we were going?"

"A lady never tells her secrets." Came her boisterous response, as her arm swung them on in a hurried manner. It was entirely possible for them to change their minds and leave her behind. The sooner they kicked it into high gear, the sooner they would realize that there was no sending her back.

"Were you eavesdropping on me Isabelle?!" Alec had stopped in his tracks beside Jace as his sister sauntered by. She had an amused smile on her lips, and when she turned, brushing her hair to the side in order to look back at her brother properly, he noticed that the blue rims of her irises looked brighter than usual in the early dawn light. The bag in his hand drooped, as he abandoned holding it up realizing that she wasn't going to take her turn holding their traveling gear, and landed with a soft thud atop his boot.

"Don't be _**ridiculous**_," the girl laughed coyly, a shrill note to her voice as she passed the boys up quickly. Her head fell back slightly as she shook her head in amusement, "Why, _**by the Angel, **_would I be listening in on _**you**_, Alec?"

With a last backward glance, her grin grew wider and the boy would have sworn that she had winked at him before turning away. For a few moments, her brother struggled with that. Everything in him said that there was no other way she could have known, but everything he knew of fae said otherwise. She couldn't lie. Faeries couldn't lie; it was one of their few mortal flaws, and he found himself considering whether or not it might be a trait she carried. Isabelle had never lied to him before, so he sided with it having been a truth, one she was not about to reveal to anyone.

Shouldering his bag, the boy made to follow his exhaustive sister as she took the lead. This adventure of theirs was bound to be long and strenuous.

Especially with Isabelle along for the ride sending him shady looks and wagging eyebrows that he ought to say something or do something with Jace.

_**XOX**_

_**Author's note:**_

_**To start off, this AN involves a bit of last chapter too. Because I cut them in two, I actually forgot some of the notes about the last chappie, so I left them in this one.**_

_**As I was writing the exit scene where Izzy catches up to Alec and Jace, the thought "Bitches LOVE Jace" popped into my mind. Had a really good laugh.**_

_**Bet y'all are too.**_

_**Also, a good laugh was had at Alec's expense. Poor boy has no idea.**_

_**In these chapters, we have some of the tension starting up with Alec and Jace. Jace feels the connection, and has put two and two together already that he should be with Alec, but he's technically got a partner.**_

_**Sort of like the Isabelle- Clary situation, but Alec and Jonathan's is official, it's as far as them taking their mark and oath ceremony, which keeps getting pushed back.**_

_**The quote might not be on the nose for these two chapters entirely, but I felt like it fit so many of the characters at this point. The first turning point in so many of the characters has been introduced. Change isn't all good and it isn't all bad. But your old self, the things you believe and want have to be redefined, they have to change for the new to set in. I feel like this is the chapter that everything is being set into motion, from Jace and Alec taking off, to Clary coming to terms that her mother left for a reason, to Jonathan breaking down without his siblings, everyone is growing up.**_

_**I also have to admit I HATE fight scenes. I struggled with the Hydra scene most out of this chapter. I tried considering what I would do in the situation, what the likelihood would be that Clary would do things, and I realized I would die one hell of a death. And what kind of story would it be if I kill her off now? I promise I won't do that to you. I desperately wanted her to be weak in this scene and desperate as well, because this is the first real fight she has ever been in, and she's not even got back up. She isolated herself and should have died from that fight. Luckily, this was Clary and not some Mundane or run of the mill Shadow hunter.**_

_**I would like to also say that Clary succeeded this time for a few reasons. Her Angelic blood helped quite a bit, the biggest being that she turned a rock into adama with her blood which later gave her a makeshift seraph blade when she was backed into a corner by the Hydra.**_

_**And then she named that Raziel. Bad, Bad Clary. Had she been holding it, god only knows what would have happened. We know from Cassandra Claire that only bad things should happen, and that Shadow Hunters have simply accepted that it is faux pas to name any blade after their creator. My guess is it would destroy the user.**_

_**INALIM: No problems my dear. Honestly, I took a break myself to actually dedicate some well needed time to friends and family. I get it, the seasons get DAMN busy around here. Thank you for your continued support, and I'm glad you enjoyed it. 3**_

_**On the note of Parabatai, I see no better match. It would explain their relative closeness, and even in the books it felt like they completed one another, just not romantically, like they felt the connection but couldn't make anything out of it because they were such good friends, but neither wanted to hurt one another. IMO Simon and Clary would probably be the best Parabatai bond they've introduced after Jem and Will. I momentarily considered Isabelle and Clary in the book too, but as their characters evolved I came to the understanding that it was unlikely to happen, especially as Simon was introduced to the Shadow World.**_

_**For the sake of this story, Nekomata, Kitsune, Tengu and the like of Mythological monsters are going to be subclasses of Werewolves. (Were- cats, were- foxes, were- bird of prey) they are regional, however. They're masters of Asia, the land of the wilderness. I mentioned Kitsunes before, but I figured going forward I should reiterate, these creatures are Down Worlders in my FF, not demons like the Kappa and Tiangou.**_

_**In the coming chapters, expect an especially long author's note on the research I did on a character I will be introducing soon, the regions (hopefully I can write up an extensive guide for how things have been broken down among Down Worlders), and possibly brief bios for the werewolf hierarchies.**_

_**Liked it? Review it, Follow it, Fave it.**_

_**Share that love.**_

_**Till Next Time**_

_**TAORI**_


	11. When Your Back's Against the Wall

A knock came at the doorway early in the morning hours. Or at least, it was earlier than Clary would like to be up, and she had a fair understanding of how many hours she normally slept, and her bones still ached something else and her head swam with dizziness that came over her when she spent too many hours awake. There was no real way to be certain of what time it was here, however. The occupants seemed to go to sleep when they were tired and wake up when they wanted to. Everyone, that is, but her.

Every morning of the past week and a half, she had been roused from as fitful a sleep as she could hope for in a cave full of wet dog by various characters she didn't wish to _**ever**_ know. Her favorite was slowly evolving into the voluptuous girl that was hollering now, exasperation at Clary's lack of movement making her dark flesh burn a fiery coral color. Through her groggy haze, Vianey seemed almost comical, head half bald and her clothes nearly three sizes too baggy for her waist that they clung to her hips underneath the sharp hip bones with a canvas belt that would have wrapped around her and Vianey comfortably.

The elder girl hovered, swatting her with a pillow she had snatched from the corner of her head. It dazed her, maybe, before she snuggled into the second beneath her cheek.

"C' mon, Clary!" The girl shook her once, twice hard. Still the red- head tried to slumber on, a deep groan dragged out of her as she tightened her grasp on her pillow and buried her face in the lumpy mass.

"Clary!" Aggravated, the elder girl yanked the thick blanket that the smaller girl cuddled beneath away and when that made little difference in her condition, leaned down so that her dark face was right against the other girl's ear and screamed in agitation, her voice cracking from the force of it as she fought down the urge to pummel her. She could throttle the girl, she could take her damned pillow and smother her. Nothing stopped her from ending the little bitch now and calling it a day. Nothing, save the wrath of her alpha and _**perhaps**_ her pack. They would forgive her, though wouldn't they? She was after all, Nephilim, and very much unwelcome here, decreasing the margin of her usefulness by the very minute. She was pushing all of her boundaries in a way that no other had before. _**"DAMN IT, CLARY I SAID WAKE UP!"**_

Without an iota of regret, Vianey ripped the mattress out from beneath her charge, a short and sharp yank that unceremoniously sent the girl sprawling to the ground where she hit hard, shaken awake by the impact. As Clary coiled up, rolling to her knees with a slow stiffness that sang of how hard she actually had hit, she shot the thicker built girl a nasty look through the hair that fell in the way that the werewolf- born only took with stride, a smile wickedly spreading over her thick lips.

The wretched girl looked like she had back- handed her. Well if she couldn't do the deed herself, she suppose she could save that image in her mind for later. Perhaps it would be the lullaby that put her to bed tonight.

"_**Lycan bitch…"**_ undoubtedly, it was not meant for her ears, but the grumbled swear was like music to the tanned Amazon- like girl's ears. It meant that she had managed to breach the famous Nephilim's impenetrable defenses, to crawl under her skin. Small victory aside, she felt ready to goad on what little fight the younger girl might have in her.

Vianey struck out before Clary could block, the toe of her soldier- uniform boots finding its goal in her ribs. Her side crumpled to block another attack as the other girl began to draw hunting circles around her, glaring down her sharp nose. She tried scrambling back to her feet, but couldn't bring herself to put enough pressure into her arms to lift herself to her haunches.

"You're right, _**Princessa**_… I am_**."**_

A sharp hit between her shoulders with the larger girl's boot, and what little progress Clary had made had been for naught. Her thin arms gave out on her and her face cracked against the uneven floor with a dull plopping noise. Knowing better than to lie down while someone was standing over her intentionally picking a fight, particularly a Down- worlder of such a known ruthless culture, Clary bucked, rolling what little she could to her side. She took three tries to unhinge herself, to roll out from beneath the weight baring her down, only to find that she was held quite well in place. It was enough to make her cry in frustration, if she would only allow herself some weakness before the werewolf.

"You're a guest in _**my**_ home, Nephilim." Vianey purred, her boot weighing down into her ribs. She seemed very much the predator in this position, and Clary very much the prey. Her only hope was to feign obedience and pray that she lost interest quick enough or found mercy for her, though as a predator she doubted Vianey knew what that even was. "Not the other way around. I tell you to get up, next time you move as if you were waiting for me all night. Got it?"

No sound came from the smaller girl, but she took it as an acceptance of defeat all the same. The burning smell of salt was threatening to invade the room, and with one look at the Nephilim she knew too soon she would break her. Clary had never been in a fight before the other night that hadn't been slighted in her favor and now was not the time to teach her that even loss was a victory, one to learn from your worst mistakes. With one last bruising crush of her foot, she rolled the sprawling girl onto her back with a ruthlessness that made her breathless, blinking up dazed at the cavern ceiling with tears leaking down the waterlines of her emerald eyes and she laid obediently still beneath the boot digging into her ribs.

"Now get up. When you're done with breakfast, they're taking you straight to your ankle biter of a brother…" the girl said bitterly. Clary could make out hard creases under her eyes that sang of a sleepless night as she began to walk away from her to the door, stepping over her prone body rather than around it. Perhaps, the run in with the demons in the tunnels below had contributed to her insomnia, but she highly doubted it. Everything she observed of the girl so far had told her that she was used to things like that, it had to be something else entirely. The hazel eyes kept darting back to look at her and Clary was getting aggravated by the assumptions she was sure were being cast her way. In reality, Vianey was waiting with baited breath what the news would do to her that her brother had been brought here as well, that he was waiting for her, demanding her. "He's been screaming your name all night."

"Jonathan's here?" her voice was bright, hopeful. Of course it would be, with that news dropped in her lap. Scrambling up, the girl floundered as she stood weakly, her hands idly righting her clothing as she tried her best to hurry, as if the prospect of seeing her elder brother had her in an uproar and she couldn't focus on one single action. She seemed dissatisfied that she had no clothes to change into when the small pile at the foot of her cot caught her eye, a long, worn burgundy sweater and a pair of leggings. She didn't dare ask the werewolf girl to leave or give her privacy, but she didn't ignore the eyes that bore into her as she yanked off the button down pajama top and traded it for the warm sweater, throwing the abandoned fabric haphazardly over the bedding. It was thick, falling to her mid- thigh and felt familiar, like home. It soothed in a way she didn't understand entirely, and her hands ran down her ribcage to the seam line and hooked her bottoms with her thumbs before letting the waistband snap back into place. She was _**still staring**_ at her. Trying to diffuse the continuous, unwavering gaze, she decided to quirk a joke at her captured sibling's expense, "Really, ankle- bitter? My brother's been out of that stage for at least a_** few**_ months now."

Vianey didn't get the joke, apparently, or if she did she found it beneath her notice. Her face was bland, angry even, as she raised her hand to expose a pretty vicious looking bite that ran along the fleshy part of her palm beneath her thumb near the socket as if the person that bit her had tried to take it off entirely. It looked painful, but then again what bite didn't smart a bit? She was edgy as she barked out, "The little bastard bit me!"

Clary couldn't help but smile. She would have laughed too, had she no control, but her mirth reached every corner of her face, and the hazel-eyed girl gave her a dark look nonetheless. With the news, she felt a wash of relief overwhelm her. That definitely _**sounded**_ like her brother, at the very least, and she knew he was doing well enough to resist whatever they were trying to get him to do. If he were here and in that sort of capability, it would only be a matter of a few days tops before they would be able to get away from here. She had immaculate faith that her elder brother would be able to figure out an escape plan and execute it with perfection. With the smile still on her lips, the girl was pleased to poke fun at her shepherd's expense, "No worries. I know for a fact that my brother is fully up to date on all of his immunizations."

Half exasperated, the dark fleshed girl flopped dramatically into the wall, a motion that alerted Clary to how long the girl thought she would actually take. Her arms were already across her chest as Clary hurriedly gathered her hair up and with a few twists of her wrist, knotted it with a slip knot at the nape of her neck, the untamed mass of curls to do what it would falling across her back wildly. Somehow, she got the feeling that asking for a brush around here would get her a good smack. With every moment longer it took, the older girl made more and more noises of agitation, shifting foot to foot as if she could hurry her up with sheer will alone.

Clary couldn't let her in on how much she wished to rush down the hall, to scarf and choke down her food and run down the hall to where ever they were keeping Jonathan. Once united, it would only be a matter of time before they escaped together. With that in mind, she tugged her hair roughly over her shoulder, playing the ringlets into delicate spirals as she tried her best to dissect the werewolf girl glaring at her from behind the shield of the garnet wave.

What _**were **_her motives?

"If you don't want us here, why help me? Surely you have better things to do than escort me through tunnels."

Her voice sounded bitter even to her own ears. With a flinch, she looked up at the girl, half expecting a sharp reprimand, or a physical attack like she had gotten earlier. She definitely deserved it. Instead, the girl stood against the wall, her head tilted back into the rock surface as she watched the younger girl down the bridge of her delicately long nose.

"The wish of the alpha is the needs of his subordinates. It is not my place to disagree." Pushing away, she moved like liquid energy, the rolling of her hips almost hypnotically smooth as she drew nearer until Clary could smell the bitter sweetness of her skin, an odd scent that reminded her of cinnamon but not as tingly to her nose. It made her stomach ache, reminding her just how little she had eaten these past few days, a futile attempt to grapple for some control over her life. Her hand reached out, wrapping her smoothed out hair around in her fingers, "Are you ready, or not, shorty? If you like, I can make a leash out of that pretty red hair of yours…"

Somehow, Clary didn't have to strain too hard to imagine her doing just that. With no other coercion, she moved for the door before Vianey was given a chance to make truth out of the threat.

_**XOX**_

Clary didn't trust these people. Why would she when she didn't know a single one of them? They had stolen her from her warm, cozy bed and thrown her into their archaic world where one hand ruled supreme and only one voice was heard. Even the creature that wore her mother's face acted astray from what Jocelyn Morgenstern once had.

The dark haired beauty that lead her moved with elaborate, tiny movements, in a way that seemed that she could have walked this path with grace blind folded, and for all Clary knew she did. There was a fluidity that spoke volumes of the frequency that she traveled this way, that as they passed certain unseen landmarks, the girl's arm reached out to block her from running into a spoke in the wall, touched the outstretched arms of young as they reached out for her. It was enough that Clary clung close to the taller girl's back, her hand clutched against the warm muscles between her shoulder blades. They rolled, like a predatory cat's might, hunched as she ducked under a pipe that Clary's head just barely passed beneath and a hand caught her hip as she leaned beneath the iron length, pushing the slighter girl towards the wall.

"Careful of the claws!" She called softly with a tone of reprimand sharpening her smooth voice; looking back at Clary through the dull light illuminating from the gem at her throat and the rocks that glowed at their feet, the Nephilim girl could see shadows darting out beneath them, casting horrendously ominous dark flashes across her illuminated face, "They're extremely sharp. The kids will drag you in if they can."

An elder woman came to the mouth of the room, ushering the small mob of young that had rushed to the mouth of the chamber back inside when she caught sight of Clary.

There it was again, that look of distrust. It was only there for a moment before the woman turned her attention away to those at her feet but it had been there.

Clary knew all too well that if a mirror was pointed in her direction, she would see the same emotion reflected back at her.

She couldn't trust these people. Her heart just would not allow it.

_**XOX**_

The dining room was a sort of miss- mash of assorted tables and chairs of all shapes and sizes thrown at intervals in lines that maximized the amount of people that could sit and eat together. For a week now she had occupied the table nearest the corner near the door, a rickety iron round table that must have been a side table at one time in its life, which sat at most three, but only ever had sat her and her self- appointed guardian.

This morning, unlike any other she had been here, the table was set and made up already with food served on platters and two mugs of a steamy sugary beverage that had a strong undercurrent of cream that Vianey had drank religiously since she had first dined with her. She never questioned how the food got there in the first place, chopping it up to having to do with some sort of duty here, like the servants that cleaned the Fairchild manor. Her seat however was taken today, occupied by her estranged mother who sat in it with an air of regality, leaning sideways into the back of the chair with her knees crossed and one of the mugs in both hands, tucked before her face as the steam wafted over her face.

She said nothing as the two girls looked at her, simply raised her chin as she made eye contact with them both in turn, her gaze first settling on Clary for only a few seconds before looking to Vianey behind her where they burned hard, unnerving her daughter on the werewolf's behalf. The message could not have been any louder. That spot was obviously where Vianey had always dined; always made up with her favorite foods whether Clary had ever been meant to eat with her or not, and now that it was occupied by Jocelyn, it could only be a sign of her dismissal of duties. Immediately she feared the unknown, and began to panic. The evil she knew was better than the one she didn't, and truthfully, the past few days she had spent being yelled at by Vianey could hardly be described as that bad. Half of her being screamed to latch on to the elder girl while she still could, the other to run.

Vianey nodded, coming up behind Clary and raised her hands to squeeze the Nephilim girl's shoulders in reassurance before she nodded to the Alpha's bitch in ascent, passing Clary close enough that she felt the warmth of the elder girl's body radiating against her back and arm. She moved quickly away and across the room, too fast for Clary to grab a hold of her, her dark head tucked down as her destination became quite clear and she moved with a swiftness that made other people jump out of her path to her brothers seated amongst a gaggle of girls their age, shoulder to shoulder on a bench that barely fit the pair let alone the girls that were fawning over them.

She announced her arrival with a gesture of sorts, a hand at either brother's shoulder as she weakly shoved them aside and the mob swallowed her up welcomingly enough; Mica half turned and he and Asa dragged her from behind to be seated between them, casting other girls off the bench to take her on. They seemed to take it mostly in stride, some moving over to other accommodating seats nearby, though some shot dark looks at Vianey as they abandoned the table completely- it was probable that she had interrupted their ill intentions.

As the youngest sibling was dragged between them over their laps, her back twisted to the younger of the two brothers and her legs slid between their thickly corded ones, hooking the back of her ankle behind the larger of the brother's calves to hold her upright on the uneven surface. She looked so at ease, too, and the closeness made Clary's heart ache. They were _**very**_ close. Closer than she and Jonathan ever could or would be.

It was obvious that the older of the two brothers had found humor in the closely shorn hair that ran down the one side his younger sister's head that had cut so to rid her of the demon blood she allowed to linger too long in the thick locks. He teased the long curls away from her face and made a joke of curling it around the back to cover the jagged baldness on the other side, tickling it over her exposed ear.

Her mother stood, her head falling to one side as she watched her daughter, now a young woman before her, torn between worlds and at a loss as far as what she would do. Jocelyn gestured to the empty chair awaiting her, the place setting already made up with food that had awaited her all along, and the girl gave a mistrustful step forward when she realized she had nowhere else to go. Any other seat would be given up without a single thought if Jocelyn asked it of a werewolf, so besides turning and forgetting breakfast altogether, her only option was to eat with the woman that wore the face of her mother she once loved and had cut her deeper than anyone ever could.

Without a word, she took the seat, set to say nothing and betray nothing. She was only here to eat, not rebuild whatever relationship could be erected between them. Tearing into a hunk of bread, a dry grainy mass, she fixed her gaze to her protector, having no other to turn her attention to that might not take immediate offense or feel the need to talk to her directly.

"So I see you've met the Lena's. Nice lot, aren't they? Very popular these days…" Jocelyn hummed, glancing back across the room at the group of siblings that Clary seemed to be glaring down with an intensity that ought to make them _**very**_ nervous. They weren't the subject matter that she wished to speak to her daughter about or to start their relationship anew on, but she had to grab hold of anything to keep the girl's attention if she were to be given a second chance. Any minute now her daughter would bolt, probably to them and demand to be led elsewhere. Anywhere that would get her some distance from her estranged mother. Letting her gaze wander to the three siblings, Jocelyn decided to take a chance at convincing her daughter to stay from a different angle before prompting her with the true motivations for bringing her here away from her home.

"They would make excellent friends for you here, Clary, regardless of what anyone else here might tell you. Good allies, the Lena's. I'm sure you remember from your lessons that Down- worlders and the Clave used to honor and uphold treaties, alliances."

Her daughter was mute for several moments before she took the bait. Leaning back, the slight girl crossed her arms across her chest, her gaze heavy lidded as she looked down her long nose in a holier- than- thou fashion she could only have learned from her father. The impression was uncanny, although she did not succeed in disguising the intrigue in her voice, nor the minute way her nose scrunched up as the question reached her eyes before her lips, "Why should they tell me otherwise?"

"Those three have rightful succession to the pack should anything befall Lucian; their father was the pack Alpha before Luke challenged him to a fight to the death, as was his father before him. Five generations of Lena's have ruled, and before them another family that kept the position for generations. Their blood has to be strong, they must breed strong wolves, or else the pack wouldn't have been handed down father to son like it has been, someone would have stepped in and challenged a claim somewhere. It's for that reason alone that everyone judges Luke for allowing them to remain here, even though it's as much their home as much as it is his or mine, or any of the other pack members. They were born here, raised. I understand the fear, however. But Luke can't see the enemy behind their innocent eyes. Anyone else would have dispatched them entirely after they ended the last regime just to tie off loose ends, but Luke always just saw helpless children. I don't see any wickedness in them either; they're just babies after all. Jonathan is older-"

Immediately, Jocelyn realized what she had said and regretted it dearly. This was not the daughter she held and had left behind but the girl that counted the hours that those arms were missing as she forced herself to toughen up too soon, to harden herself against the maliciousness of the world beyond. Jocelyn was just another threat to her heart now, _**not her mother**_. Her daughter swallowed hard, her eyes focused towards the Lena children though she no longer actually saw them, and her hands tightened before her in the borrowed dress as she thought of how long she could refuse to eat. A darting glance to the food at the table gave her away, she could hear her stomach grumble, though she refused to acknowledge it and Jocelyn appeared to be ignoring it as well. Instead, the girl raised her gaze to level her mother with the most condemning of looks, one that Jocelyn recognized as one of her own contemptuous glances. Apparently speaking of her other estranged child, the one she had known so well and still had chosen to abandon, did not sit well with her youngest. The grating shrillness to her daughter's voice made her flinch away when she finally spoke again.

"I want to see my brother, _**now."**_

"I wanted to talk to you…"

"We are talking." Her voice was short and clipped and when Jocelyn moved to touch her hand on the table, the girl drew back to lean against the back of the chair and tucked her arms across her chest with her hands in her armpits, clenching. She was past her upset about being kidnapped from her bed by her mother and a traitor's henchmen. She was furious now. "And now, we're_** done."**_

They were keeping her and Jonathan apart. She had heard people talking, she couldn't pretend she didn't; whispering worries in the hall that shook her deep enough to rattle her bones, and her own instincts were in turmoil. There was something off here and her brother was too far away. She had only just found out he was here, but now that she knew, she wanted to cling to the safety net he had always been for her. From what she had gathered from stolen whispers in the hall, there was discord among the wolves as well that did not go deep enough to be explained away by a regime change that her mother's lover might have put into motion. All of the Alphas had convened in one place, and that in itself was unheard of. They each ruled over a plot of land, far enough apart that it was like they were their own continents with no common language. To have them all on one place… Clary couldn't understand it. So much testosterone in one place was dangerous at best, eventually there would be a fight,it was only a matter of time… Most of the other things they gossiped over, she didn't quite understand, but she did understand the unease over their pack leaders as much as she knew that she was part of the cause for the impromptu gathering and no one really spoke much else on why.

"I need to fix this, Clary. I can't live with how I have left us-"

"Why now, when you've done so well not doing_** anything**_ for _**so long**_?" her daughter's voice was sharp, but Jocelyn couldn't fault her for it. She was hurt, and rightfully so. Her mother had run off when she was young, too young to even remember her properly. Her actions were heinous at best to her child who didn't have any understanding of the world but what she had seen with her own two eyes. "We are not broken, mother. You can't just press things together and call it _**fixed **_like when Jonathan broke one of my dolls."

Looking downward, the older woman couldn't help but smile. Everything would be right now. She would make sure of it, make sure her children were brought up right, away from her husband's influence. Her smile was soft, but it was there when she looked up at her lovely daughter, ever so much like her. She was vindicated, and every bit of every strength her mother and father both held captive to gift to her. Her fury was fast and strong but it would melt with the right direction. "It has never disappeared from my thoughts Clary, what I have done to the both of you, my beloved children, but it was what I have not done that torment me so. You deserved every happiness. Love, affection, the world. I would have given everything for you, for Jonathan. It has come to light that I have wronged my family beyond any other, something I never set out to do. I was a good mother, Clarissa, and I wish to be so even now for you. But to be a good mother, I should right the wrongs done to my offspring first. I cannot bring any justification to the sins I have done to you, or to Jonathan. But I can repent, I can protect you the way I never have before. I love you both so, Clary, and leaving you was the hardest thing I have ever done. "

"It's a very pretty speech, mother, but it's a crock. If you loved us, you would not have run off with a-"

"Clary, I'm pregnant."

Clary choked on the air between them.

_**What?**_ Pregnant? How did that happen?

She was telling the truth too. Now that she cared to notice, Clary saw the growing swell of her mother's stomach, and something in her heart swelled, wanting to touch the infant there, to know the sibling that would be soon born. It wasn't something she thought she would ever feel before. Was this what it was like for Jonathan before she had been born? Terrible loneliness, only to find there would be another to occupy the desolate reality you found yourself in?

"You- you _**abandoned**_ Jonathan and I- to… to create abominations with a Lycan?"

Her eyes were the same piercing green that met her every morning, torn and shattering before her and there was nothing Jocelyn could do to stop it. She had to cross this obstacle before things could ever be right between them. "It did not start that way, I assure you, Clary, but yes. The child I carry is werewolf, but she will be Shadow hunter, true and strong and as beautiful as you."

"Can you forgive me Clary, be a good sister-"

"No." the finality in her voice broke her own heart and the realities it had been trying to entangle together in hopes for peace. Her mother's face deflated, looking closer to tears than she had seen her since she had ever remembered her_**.**_ She pushed back from the table, her chair scraping with a shrill noise as she kicked away. She couldn't wipe the resentment from her face as she turned, biting the tears back as she stepped away,_** 'But I will try.'**_

_**XOX**_

"So how long you suppose until you have her gutted and field dressed for dinner, Vi?"

"Oh come on. It's not that I necessarily hate her. She's just so pompous and petty and she bumbles around like an idiot half the time that I can't figure out if it's meant to be disarming or if she really is that stupid. It's like I'm babysitting a five- foot two year old. "

Asa whistled, half in and out of the conversation. "Pretty hot two- year old."

The pair ignored him, the only response that either gave was the quick sliver of a smile that the eldest sibling flashed his twin, a knowing smile that told his brother that he agreed with him without raising the ire of their younger sister protectively nestled between them. After too many moments of peace, Mica took up playing with said sister's hair, this time dragging the battered locks upward like a Mohawk with a rough hand reminiscent of bygone years of roughhousing amongst the siblings. After a moment he let a scowl tug his features inward as if he were contemplating a deep dilemma and decided what exactly something needed. Reaching into the thick mass along the left of her face, he flipped it roughly and tugged it in place. He smiled; proud that he had made yet another hairstyle of the catastrophe that was his sister's hair, he looked to Asa again. The effort got him a warning look from the other boy milliseconds before the elbow hit him in the gut and their baby sister gave him a look dark enough to wilt flowers.

"_**Stop **_it, Mica. It lost its humor about the third time you did it."

"No it _**didn't**_." even still, the taller, wider boy let her hair go. The thick wave tried its best to return to her left shoulder, but stuck out of place behind it rather than before it where she usually fixed it. It reminded him of the little girl he remembered running behind him, her thick hair wildly bouncing behind her. "Did you _**reaaaallly**_ have to go and do something so drastic as to shave it all off? There are simpler solutions, after all little sister. For example, you could have _**washed**_ it."

The girl smacked him hard, and he let go of her hair at long last to cradle the bruising flesh of his upper arm; his sister always did have a wicked right hook, enough that the twins were really the only two stupid enough to pick a fight with her. Well, at least, other than the Nephilim girl. With her, _**everything **_was a fight. Asa scooted down the bench, allowing his siblings room to fight where his gut wouldn't be on the receiving end of her elbow; his gesture seemed to spark attention from those that dined with them and almost half vacated the table for more suitably quieter locations. She was dignified when she finally responded; dragging her hand through the air as if for a moment she had forgotten exactly what she had done; Vianey let her eyes wander off to check on Clary as nonchalantly as she could manage when she was as tiffed as she was, "I_** did**_ try to wash it out, asshole. The ichor had the consistence of gum by time I got myself to water, and it was burning besides. Is it really that ugly, Mica? I should have taken it all off, shouldn't've I?"

The brothers exchanged a look that spoke volumes and once more Mica pulled at the locks, threading his fingers at the base of her neck instead, his intent as innocent as they could be. This time, instead of dragging it to hide the expanse of botchily cut hair as if it was something she should have hidden from the beginning, he twisted it toward her forehead along the erratic seam she had given it with a flourish that came from years of braiding little girls' hair, weaving it in and out of remaining mass that cascaded over her left shoulder as he drew it to her left temple and knotted it there to let the ends fall purposefully along with the rest of her hair. He had already seized the second tendril he had intended to draw decoratively to the other side of her head when she turned her wide hazel eyes on him.

"Inħobbok ħafna, Viviere." (I love you so much, Vianey) He caught her by the base of her long neck, forcing her to look at him in the eye. He looked at her with the warm eyes she had always known from birth when her elder brothers would rock her to sleep, and cover her from harm. Those eyes gazed down on her with an all- encompassing approval, warming the darkest reaches of her heart. It told her, always, that here in her brother's arms was safest above anywhere else, and_**, at least to Mica and Asa**_, there was no one more perfect, mind body or soul. The moment past between them, and the girl found herself half breathless as she angled closer and embraced the length of his neck.

"Tieghi hu… Jiena nħobboku." (My brother, I love you too) Leaning forward, her forehead pressed against her eldest brother's as her arm slid to curl over his shoulders. Asa would feel the lost closeness, she was sure, but this was her Mica's way of begging forgiveness as he always had. She and Asa had always seen eye to eye, and as the middle child Asa had taken the brunt of many fights between the other two, able to take either side with the closeness he had forged. He was the peacemaker, after all, and Mica and Vianey the fiery rebels.

Pulling away, she smiled to him, and then to the smaller brother, a brilliantly deceptive look that almost hid the unease she felt, continuously, of her body. She had never been like either of them, nor would she ever. But at least she was worthy of their approval. Her shoulder bunted into Asa's, trying to knock him off kilter when he said nothing about the affection he was denied.

"I think it's pretty. It makes you look tougher, roguish in dystopian sort of way..." A soft voice interjected. The remaining Lena children turned in synchrony to find the rail thin girl they had stolen from her bed not a fortnight ago standing at their backs with a most defeated look about her; there was a flush to her cheeks too, like she had been in a shouting match with someone, and she kept her gaze adverted as Vianey looked upon her with surprise, her hand coming to touch the emptiness beside her collarbone. There was a damp wetness to the girl's eye lids, barely there as tears had been darted away or choked down before they had a chance to fall. She looked so absolutely broken that it twisted in the older girl's chest something she did not think could be possible for her to feel about a Shadow Hunter.

Worry.

"Wha- What is it?" suddenly panicked, the girl murmured softer now than she had speaking to her brothers, as she turned more at the sight of her. She abandoned the self- loathing immediately at the sight of Clary. Because nothing had come to mind that could bring this little hellion to tears, she found herself grasping at what could have transpired to invoke any such emotion from her. After only seconds of silence, she was on her feet, moving toward the smaller, bird- like girl, her hands catching the tiny wrists away from the skirt she had been worrying as Vianey drew as close as she dared to the bony girl, "What's wrong, Clary?"

"You promised. My brother, Jonathan."

So she had. Her chest clenched as she forced her grip to loosen. What had come over her?

"Give me a moment and I'll meet you outside."

Clary nodded stiffly, turning almost mechanically and rushing from the room.

It was going to take more than a few moments to sort out exactly what she was feeling, and sooner than she really felt ready, Vianey stumbled after her, disturbingly entranced by the way she had tried to smile at her from behind a shattering façade.

_**XOX**_

_**Author's Note:**_

_**Mica, Asa, and Vianey. When naming them, I imagine that their names were wishes that their parents, the mother specifically, wanted them to remember. Mica be humble, Asa be hopeful, and Vianey live. Vianey and Viviere (a pet name from Mica and Asa) translate "Alive" and "to Live". The purpose behind her name? You will know in the next few chapters. **_

_**Language: it's Maltese. When I was over there doing home- stays, both houses spoke mixed Italian and the native language in conversation. I pass this on to the Lena kids. They normally speak in English, but to each other I feel like a return to a native tongue adds to their childhood endearment.**_

_**I have decided that to appease both readers as well as my own uploading/writing habits that I will now be splitting chapters in half from now on. Updates will probably be together in succession, so that those of you that want to read through what I would call a chapter can, and those that need smaller segments can have those as well. I must apologize for the lateness of this chapter as well. I had a plethora of extra work thrown at me last minute from the holidays themselves and at work and on top of that, the computer that I had this and the drabbles for the next few chapters saved on went down in a fiery heap of crap when someone downloaded something to it. It wouldn't even let me turn it on. Luckily, I had my rough drafts to pull from on my phone, but I had to essentially rewrite this chapter in its entirety, because I have to say it, it's mostly fluff leading up to a few pieces of hard plot line that I felt needed some storyline to link all together, and what I have on my phone is essentially the scenes I was most excited to write and the plot lines that lead the story along.**_

_**For now, no promises on updates unless I have the chapters fully set. I don't want to give any false hope or to upset anyone. However, I have to admit something. This story has a stronger following than I have ever anticipated. Consistently, I have 40 people on a chapter within the first few hours. It's a bit humbling seeing that over a month has passed without an update and still at least 10 people a day, if not three times that on some days are reading this.**_

_**Thank you all so much for your continued support. If you enjoyed it, please review, fave, follow.**_

_**Til Next time **_

_**(I'm thinking sooner than the last wait XD)**_

_**Much Love**_

_** I**_


	12. I'll Be There to Catch Your Fall

_**When your back's against the wall**_

_**I'll be there to catch your fall**_

_**So have a little faith in me**_

Simon was so close to going berserk. The last thing he had remembered before waking up here, naked tied to the bed had been some dude practically three times his size hefting him up over his shoulder. The brunt force of being heaved up by the man had roused him from his descent into sleep. If that hadn't been enough that he was manhandled, as the beastly guy hefted him over his shoulder, he caught sight of a girl his age with wild hair and another man that could have been a clone of the girl hovering over Clary. The girl held her curly black hair back as she gently touched the red head's face, tracing over it with a sense of wonder as she muttered something and withdrew. The man at her side touched her shoulder, a silent message passing past their eyes and then he went out.

From his waking moment, Simon could only deduce that he had been drugged. He got the satisfaction, however, that he had apparently socked the dude holding him. When the dark haired man had finally limped in, his cheekbone was bruised and busted, a dark dusting that set off his pallor beautifully. He had been in here for days now and the only thing he had to pass his time was plan on how he would get out, preferably making a pit stop to nab Clary on the way out.

Not to say that his _**lovely**_ hosts they hadn't been in to press their ugly faces in on him, however. It had become rather a favorite pastime for some of them; there was always someone or other looking in on him, watching him like a hawk. Some had come to taunt, others seemly intrigued by his presence here. The brute that had manhandled him had been in a few times to check in on him, drug him up, as had the girl that had been with him during the abduction. She had to be the smartest out of all of them too- she knew to keep her mouth shut and keep her distance.

At least, he thought she was smarter. Simon had only gotten one real attack in on the girl, and she had probably expected he was asleep. She had taken the liberty of bathing him_, something he couldn't fathom anyone would want to do in the first place as he had begun to smell like a mule,_ and her hand had passed too close not to pass up the opportunity. He had bit her, a mistake he realized rather quickly as she smashed his face in with the basin she had been holding with her other hand. She had snarled something at him after, slapping the wet rag that she had been sponging him with over his face as the blood trickled over hips chin and down his neck.

_**I hope you choke on it.**_

Simon did too, at least a little bit. It would mean the end of this timeless torment. Day and night were nothing here, and Simon wanted the end of it any way it might come.

His other visitors were not so intelligent. They tried to provoke him, test him. It came to him on whispers of his visitors that he was being so carefully guarded after an incident involving another prisoner somewhere in the deeper corridors. It added more fuel to his fire as he bided his time, planning his escape as he slowly worked his wrists out of the tight binding rope knotted up to his elbows.

It made sense to him. If they were keeping the other person in similar conditions, he could only assume that once they had gotten loose they had tried to make as much of a bang as possible. As soon as he wrenched his hands out of these ropes, he was going to raze the damned place to the ground.

After finding Clary, that was. He knew she had to be here somewhere, taken by the same people that had been ever present to torment him, and for his captors sake, she had better be in better shape than he was when he _**did **_find her. There was no other reason for him to have been taken, if not for leverage to keep the girl. He was otherwise useless as far as kidnapping went.

Finally he broke his bonds, a slight unraveling that he untwisted enough that it frayed away, and within minutes he had freed his hands, and only second later had pulled away the binding knots that had anchored his forearms together and above his head. He jumped up, intending on getting out as quickly as possible. He did, however understand the situation he found himself in, and besides the robe he had been tied to the stained cot with and the sheet they had discreetly covered him with, Simon had no means of protection or offense. Looking about, he thought of what could be made into a weapon that he knew were here.

A military style foot locker sat undisturbed in the corner, but other than that the bed was the only other thing in the room. He had little choice but to scrounge, and fell to his knees before it as he quickly began to riffle through the contents. Clothes, mostly, but something he did in fact need, he also found some medical supplies, though none that could be used in a pinch as a weapon unless one considered suicide as their plan of attack.

A noise at the door distracted him from his efforts, halfway through the chest at the foot of his bed.

Two bony- thin girls stood in the entryway. The taller one looked much like any of his other visitors, greasy and underfed with hard, angular curves, but he knew from the shape of her wavy black hair thrown over one shoulder that it was the girl he had bit that led the other visitor along, though for the life of him he could not recall the girl's name. She was fairly pretty; almost comparable to Isabelle Lightwood who was universally considered aesthetically beautiful, Simon fund that this girl's beauty was of an almost exotic nature, startling in her features.

Waltzing in like she owned the place, her wrist held back the curtain in the doorway for her smaller companion, and Simon's stomach dropped as the familiar wave of garnet curls came into view.

The girl that had kidnapped them gave pause, a noise caught in her throat like a gagging noise as her eyes shot to the ceiling and Simon remembered that he was still fairly nude. It didn't' matter for long, as the pale girl beside her came fully into view, freezing as her wide green eyes fell upon him as well. It was like a deer caught in the headlights of a car, and she took a half step back, as if to steady herself as she almost crumpled backwards into her companion.

"_**Clary."**_

The girl looked a ghost of herself. Days had barely passed them by, and he saw how much it had taken its toll on his parabatai. She must not have eaten much, if at all; her borrowed clothes were nearly hanging from her hips, and he saw the planes of her bottom rib bones poking through the loosely draped sweater dress and the sharp blades of her shoulders seemed hollower than before, exposed above the collar.

Her thoughts were flying through her head faster than she could really grasp them all entirely. She grasped hard at what bothered her most before the thought fleeted away, and worry circled her like a drain. He looked beaten and weary, like he was losing muscle mass in his already thin upper torso, and his face was bloodied. Both of his eyes were bruised and bloodshot, and dried blood caked his face like a muzzle. What had happened to him?

This was not Jonathan._ Simon… It was her Simon…_

_Why was he __**here? **_

Her name broke her out of her reverie, and she couldn't bite back the sob that ripped out of her, and she half fell, half dove to Simon, her arms desperate to have him close. He drew her close enough that she should have shattered, like the delicate glass she suddenly felt like her bones were suddenly made of, and she shook as she cried into his shoulder, his hand coursing through the half matted red mass. It wasn't until her nose began to run that the girl realized exactly how hard she was crying. "Si- Sii- i…"

_**Hysterical.**_ Rolling her eyes, the thickly built girl folded her arms across her chest and fell back against the wall as she watched them with barely concealed contempt. This girl was it, huh? Everything they had struggled for, everything that was sacrificed, was all to emancipate this one small, whiny girl? She still didn't believe it.

Turning, she left the room unannounced just in time for the Nephilim girl to realize the obvious.

"Si y- yy- you're naked…!"

She had no use for the emotional reuniting of Nephilim, nor what the girl might think of what she had done to her kin.

_**XOX**_

Things were not going as he had imagined them. Somehow, Jace imagined things being much better for all parties of his group. As it were, the only one of them that had remembered that they would eventually have to go to sleep had been the one they never intended on bringing along.

Isabelle was the only one with enough forethought to bring a sleeping roll, but had forgotten to bring along any rations. The food that was meant to last them two weeks seemed to disappear into nothing and, to play the devil's advocate and see the ironic good in a horrible situation, Jace found himself laughing bitterly that now without much food to fill their stomachs, there wasn't much sleep going on anyways.

Starvation was not something they taught the three children in class, but it was a lesson they were surely learning now.

They ought to turn back now, to crawl back to Valentine and beg his forgiveness while claiming their inadequacies for this particular adventure. No one would fault them, surely; none, but Morgenstern himself. His father would be furious, unmanageably so. It was the only thing that kept them out in the bitter cold, huddling together beneath the single sleeping bag taking turns rotating to the center of the bag.

Isabelle had been the first to suggest it, to demand that the boys stop struggling at night. She had given up her modesty for their health and comfort. Jace never thought she would stoop to such selfless acts, and from her brother's response, he could only assume he had not either.

Now, Alec snored softly in the center, his face puffing warm air over Jace's clavicle in short bursts that almost made him forget that he was sleeping in the middle of the wilderness surrounded by a stiff dusting of snow that clung to the edges of leaves and grass on the ground; winter was upon them, and soon their foraging would be useless. They would remain as long as they could outside, and then they would discuss what they would do if they had no clue as what to do, where to search, next.

Jace was hopeful that they would stumble across some clue soon, however.

They had a direction to begin with, and their traveling party was small. If they were to catch up on the kidnappers, it would likely be sooner than they expected.

Sitting up, Jace drew the thick leather of his gear jacket closer to his body, pulling away from his companions with an intention to try his hand at hunting again. He never had thought himself much of a predator- no that really was Jonathan's specialty- but they were very close to desperate, too close for his liking.

As he went away, Alec grumbled, pulling his back away from his sister's front as he groped into the darkness for Jace's receding warmth and immediately the girl's dark eyes were wide open, looking for an attack.

"Keep him warm, Iz. I'm going to try to set some traps for breakfast."

The girl's face scrunched up quizzically, but she settled back down under the blanket, her face pressing against the wisps of her brother's shaggy hair. She watched him quietly leave with Alec's bow with a gentle smile, before crawling over the boy to lay at her Alec's front, her arms wrapped around his thin frame.

Closing her eyes, she smiled again as she wondered exactly how many arrows they would need to replace after this attempt concluded.

_**XOX**_

Almost three days had passed before Clary heard anything from any of the werewolves. They had all but left her alone after the incident in the dining room with her mother, giving her a wide enough birth to wander the halls with Simon however she cared without anyone prodding her where to go. It was almost like she was walking around her own home, almost. Clary missed the warmth and comforts of home, but the lack of responsibility was a nice, unexpected change. Not to say that she hadn't crossed the paths of her Down- worlder keepers, but nothing was directly said to her. They all glared at her, whispered amongst themselves enough that she knew what they spoke of and it made her hurry through the halls to find herself far enough from them. She disliked the feeling of their judgmental stares.

They despised her being here as much as she did. There was but a few voices that remained silent when their brethren spoke hideously about her and Simon, and even fewer that spoke out against the indirect cruelty, the first of which she encountered having shocked her entirely.

It hadn't been a few words thrown harmlessly at her either. _**They had been out for blood**_.

The boys that attacked her from behind took her on in the middle of an empty hallway when Simon had left her to go to bed in a room made up for him down the hall from hers, and the Shadow hunter felt competent enough that she would have fought them off eventually, but the little werewolf princess had come to her defense instead. Vicious as a Tasmanian devil over its young, she had snarled at the offenders, backing them all off. They knew better than place themselves in her ill graces, to try Vianey and her brothers would only result in pain, Clary was certain, and the pen had been in their hand to sign their death warrant that night. Somehow, in the workings of this clan it seemed there were two kings- one that thrived and walked among them and one that ruled from beyond the grave. The pack still regarded the Lena children as the alpha's pups, despite his demise, and gave them the adequate respect that they deserved. That being said, there was a look to some of the more peaceful wolves that she had increasingly noticed, a lingering of gazes that made Clary feel like they were waiting for a fight to erupt between her and Simon and the Lena's that would settle this whole alpha issue once and for all.

She was, after all, being claimed as pack by Luke and Jocelyn. _**His heir, perhaps, **_the thought of it made her sick.

That was the last of her solitude, too. The girl reappointed herself as guardian of the Nephilim, and Clary found herself both thankful and regretful. She missed the lonely nights, the ability to sit alone with Simon at night and talk into the wee hours of the night, or fall asleep wherever the hell she wanted to, whenever she wanted to. Now she was ushered to and from _**her**_ room, and Simon was barred from entering, being left to sleep restlessly outside in the hall as he refused to leave her unattended now that they had been reunited. But in this, she had gained some invaluable insight as to how the other girl lived, and why, while she and her siblings were technically dethroned, they were still respected here as if they still reigned supreme.

Every morning, before she had woken Clary up before, the girl had risen and trained with her brothers and a few others that were ignorant enough to think they were on their level. Clary had been over seen as weak, or perhaps ephemeral, before, but now that Vianey had renewed her watch, the Nephilim girl had been dragged up even earlier, shoved dazed into the middle of a bloodbath every morning.

The Lena's always humored them too, even though the distance between class here was _**very**_ apparent to everyone involved, and every time the challenger ended up limping away with their tail between their legs after Vianey handed it to them for her brothers; it was comical almost, to think that as the weakest of the trio, Vianey was almost never challenged directly, but every time her brothers stepped aside and let her wash the floor with the new challengers.

Clary was exempt from these fights, placed on a pedestal of sorts that kept her from harm's way but in the sight of her elder guardians, but she stayed and watched attentively all the same. The Lena's fought with a fluidity to their motions that was beautiful and fairly dance- like that when compared to the others looked like the tireless bumbling of fools.

Simon had offered- _bless him-_ to spar with her a few times as they watched tirelessly from the sidelines waiting for them to finish up_**. She must look so longing,**_ Clary found herself thinking, _**so weary of waiting for the fight to be brought directly to her.**_

From there, they went as a boisterous pack, rough housing on the way, to care for the young of the pack, to see to their early morning needs. For most of the pack, the young outnumbered their parents, and though there were more than enough adults to care for the pups, they lived by the saying _**it takes a village to raise a child. **_In turns, pack members came to watch and care for the masses of young werewolves, like the woman Clary had already met the other day that had ushered them back into the huge den room. The Lena's walked in every morning to show off the magnetism of their charms, calling familiarly to an old woman who sat perched in the corner like a hoot owl, scowling at the teens that had come wandering in. _**Nannu…**_ The young girl wondered if, perhaps, the elderly woman feared that someone would hurt one of them, particularly her or Simon, who both adored children. She didn't have too much time to ponder the subject however. They had been smelled by the pups, and in a rambunctious mass they took on the teens.

Playfully, Mica and Asa went tackling into the wave of kids with playful snarls, lifting them up and tossing them gently in the air to each other and the group that had chosen the twins to take on dispersed in that manner to try their luck with the other teens. The hazel- eyed beauty seemed surprised, although the warm smile that spread over Vianey's thick coral lips as the flash mob of toddlers rushed on her then seemed to tell a different story; dragging her under the dog pile, Clary fretted for a moment as she did not emerge as her brothers had, simply falling beneath them as they took her under the mass of chubby arms and legs. She was about to rush in when the girl finally shot up, children strung up on her back and arms as she shook; one by one they fell away again from their human jungle gym to the safety of the floor where they could wrestle safely with someone of a smaller challenge.

This was later let up as them brought her a battered book from the bookshelf, and suddenly they were followed one by one, each urging them into her hands with frantically hopeful looks. She relented after the fourth was forced into her hands and fell to the ground, and a soft grumble later as the book fell open to the cover and the dog pile took her on once more, though of a loving nature this time, as they tucked themselves and perched on top of one another, listening to her gruff voice as they craned their necks to look at the pictures.

The red haired girl took her spot against the wall and observed silently. Simon chose to remain on his feet beside her but leaned against the smooth, rounded cavern wall all the same as he folded his arms across his chest. Looking to him for an instant, Clary thought of how he would do well in this setting. He had always loved children, almost as much as she had, and had been ecstatic when Maryse had announced her pregnancy. He wouldn't admit it, but he enjoyed Max and his antics probably more than Isabelle did, and she did even more than Clary had. Looking back just in time, Clary returned the soft smile Vianey gave her, a gentle natured kindness that could only have been brought on by the children, but the green- eyed girl felt it nonetheless. She adverted her bright hazel eyes quickly as if she were embarrassed and threw herself hard into her energetic voice over of the story, her stolen moment over and then for just a moment, Clary saw a flash of the future, the girl surrounded by her own children using the same muted tone as they fought for the best spot. It wasn't until then that Clary noticed this was how all three of the Lena's acted, and it wasn't other people's children in their eyes. These were the Lena's children, though they had not birthed them, these were their offspring.

It was heartwarming in a way that Clary never thought she could ever feel.

Glancing down at her hands, the Nephilim girl ran her hands over the cover of her favorite story that she had found nestled in the pup's den library, and gently opened it to the inside cover, intent to spend her time submerged in a familiar story.

_**XOX**_

The boy threw the rabbit to the slight frost beside the siblings. The dark eyed girl had done as she was requested and had fallen asleep in her charge. The warm flesh fell beside her and the girl was immediately upright, her eyes wide as she looked around for her blade she had left on the other side of her brother. "Get cooking Izzy."

"Cookin' what?" With a smile, the boy kicked it to her with the seam of his foot and couldn't help as she just stared at his kill like it had become some monster that had crawled out of the darkest pits of hell. It rolled bloody side up and its dead eyes stared blankly at her. "What am I supposed to do with _**that?**_"

"You skin it and cook it. It's meat."

"_**It's an animal." **_Isabelle corrected shrilly, going pale as she refused to stop looking at its lax, leaking body. "and, it's _**staring**_ at me."

With a sharp motion, Jace cut the poor things head off, a crunching noise that made her stomach twist as the blood gushed out over the blade. They had all seen death before, been witness to it bleeding out all over their weapon but the Lightwood girl had never considered the nature of how her food made it onto her plate. She felt nauseous.

The rail thin girl looked like she was about to faint. Suddenly Jace felt like he had skipped out on some 101 class on females and how they liked things to be. He knew that generations of Nephilim women had stayed home and away from the carnage of battle, and perhaps this was why if the death of an underfed rabbit got a Lightwood all skittish.

Another twisting motion, and the boy was bisecting the beast along its abdomen and another crunch later as he snapped the ribcage open, Isabelle was up and running into the forest.

'_**Yes, **__definitely__** why it took them so long to escape from the kitchen.' **_The blonde haired boy found himself smiling to himself as he continued his work, detaching the flesh from the hide with small, smooth flicks of his wrist. At this rate, he'd be feeding them by sunrise.

By time Isabelle had returned, Jace had skinned and threaded the meat along the edge of the blade he had gutted it with and stabbed it deep into the fire ring where a flame blazed warmly and had the rabbit half roasted.

Alec was gently roused by the smell of meat, his head groggily perking up at the crackle of the fire. His face skewed up as he looked across the clearing, his sister sharpening her blade with a rock she found comfortable enough and the Jace gently churning a skewer of food over the blazing fire. The other boy had tied what appeared to be a black handkerchief around his head to keep his hair out of his eyes like the servant girls used to back at the manor when they were mucking out something disgusting, like say Jace's room. He must have gotten the idea from the old girls from when he wandered down to the kitchen, keeping his hair away from the open flame. Somehow Jace seemed pretty damn pleased with himself, and after a moment threw a second and third string of fleshy meat over the fire, which Alec quickly recognized as Isabelle's daggers beneath. The two were engrossed with each other, and his sister looked rather peeved, like Jace had struck a bad cord with her and with a grumble, the boy fell back to the sleeping bag, his head lulling back, "So when did Jace Herondale become our bitch?"

_**XOX**_

"_**Whas that?"**_

Jumping, Clary looked lively about her, trying to distinguish what it was that had disturbed her. A young girl sat beside her, scrawnier than the rest, Clary supposed, with long dark red hair that fell straight down her back in a loose ponytail and bright and wide steely- blue eyes that stared with an intensity that felt like she was being dissected and put back together.

"A fairytale."

" '_Bout?"_

"A young prince that has to convince a young girl to kiss him, to love him and become his princess or else he'll lose his soul and everything else he holds dear."

"_**Oh."**_ The child looked almost hopefully defeated with her nose scrunching up at the end and a slight pout pulling at her small-set lips and as she fell onto her rounded rump beside Clary, her hand fisted on the edge of the book as she eyed the colorful pictures within darkly. Quickly bored with that page, she flipped it to the next where a bright illustration of the couple in the midst of a kiss and everything coming back to normal took over an entire page. Without missing a beat, the child looked hopefully up at Clary from beside the book as her pudgy hand pointed to the picture, "If you kiss our Vianeee, will she become a princess?"

Simon snorted, a high pitched noise that drew more attention than he would have liked, and his hands clamped over his jaw as he shook his head with mirth. Clary glared up at him, and he waved off her irritation, deciding to step outside until he could control himself better. The toddler didn't seem to notice much as her metallic eyes gazed up curiously at Clary. She wanted an answer all the same, "No, I don't think it quite works that way-"

"Adeeea."

"_**Adia." **_Clary responded with a smile. The young pup scrunched her face up comically in reaction to her name on the Nephilim tongue, and she leaned forward with a deep quizzical pout, trying hard to think this out, though she looked like she was about to make herself explode. Somehow, Clary supposed this conundrum really bothered the child, "There needs to be a prince-"

"Meeekaa? Wha bout Aaaasa?"

"No, not them either." Clary answered her with a smile that bit back the shiver starting up her spine. Her hand delicately settled on the girl's head, smoothing back the greasy mess with a tenderness she usually reserved for young ones and Jonathan on his darkest of days, and she felt the air get heavy as everyone's breath exhaled and a dozen or so sets of eyes glared her down. "First, one of them would have to lo-"

"_**You have to kiss one of them!"**_ the brightness to her voice almost hurt as the girl jumped up, stomping a bit. She seemed upset enough that Clary tried to calm her by running her dexterous fingers through her hair that hung limply down her back, but it did not soothe her in the least. "You got _**your **_happy ever after, and you _**don't even deserve it**_. Why else are you still here for?"

_**XOX**_

_**She felt like a ghost of herself. Sometimes it took something perfectly innocent to see the darkness for what it was, and now that a child had said it to her, **_Clary felt wretched.

Mutely, she sat by herself, chasing around a bit of egg with toast as she wallowed in her misery. _**What was she doing here?**_ She wasn't wanted here, and she had no want to amend the broken relationship with her mother. _**Why else**_ remain where no one wanted her and she was an enemy of the state? Her presence was causing those that had been kindest to her hardships too, and she knew that it was not without cost to Vianey, to her brothers Mica and Asa, or to Luke even, who had put out a good word for his wolves to keep their hands to themselves where she was concerned.

So deep in her own mind, she didn't even hear her parabatai come near. Plopping down, Simon sprawled out beside her with a wide smile. The green- eyed beauty quirked a manicured brow at his antics which appeared to have no reason, but said nothing. Instead, she pursed her lips and cast a shady look at him before diving back into the thick, starchy meal.

The immediate meal after she stormed away from Jocelyn at breakfast, the sweets had all ceased. Clary supposed they had something to do with one another, like a punishment the girl received for having failed her, or perhaps it had been a bribe all along for Clary. It didn't much matter to her, but somehow it felt wrong to steal from the Lena family after how kind they had been to her.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, Clary could see the familial relation that the three had, more now that she knew them a bit more; the brothers were nearly identical twins, save their eyes and the younger of the two was slighter minutely enough that it could be very easy to mistake the two of them if you didn't know them enough but now that she did the girl found herself noticing the vast differences between them, and while their sister definitely had a femininity to her that was all her own, she was built similarly with the same proportions, the same brilliant gold in all three of their eyes. Asa and Vianey were finely muscled whereas their brother was ripped as well, making the two younger siblings almost merge together enough that Clary could reasonably claim them to be triplets, though she knew that Vianey was years younger.

The younger, slighter of the two boys had kept a watchful gaze on her since the nursery. When he caught her looking at him as well he smiled wickedly at her, jerking his chin up at her in a tilt that tried to direct her over. He was admittedly charming, and the boy seemed to know it. She ignored him haughtily with almost a snobby tilt to her head.

Turning away, Clary tried to throw all of her attention to Simon, whom had found almost an obsessive interest with the properties of the floor and how they made it glow. He was spouting intellectual theories based off of the factoids of things he had learned from books he had read, and it was so easy for her to have gone off the deep end and on to her own misguided tangent when he droned on like that. By time she had re- submerged in the conversation, he had moved on to dissecting what exactly they were eating.

_**XOX**_

"Will they _**ever**_ get off our table?" Mica groaned irritably, leaning over his plate as he chased a few stray bits of egg around his plate with a rimmed up chunk of bread. "This is entirely your fault, Viviere. You should have shoved the brat off on someone else and we all could still be eating at our table."

"Yes, but what fun would _**that **_be? Besides, now you get to have women fawn over you sun up to sun down, an' don't tell me you don't like the little tail chasing you're getting." Leaning back, Vianey smiled behind her cup as she hooked her elbow around the pointed spire at the back of her chair, half turned so she could keep a watchful eye on the Nephilim in the room that the younger brother had already taken upon himself to babysit. Her hand idly twisted the necklace at the hollow of her throat, running her fingertips over the rounded prongs as she thought of the situation she found herself in. The costs outweighed the results, she knew, but she found she found herself counting increasingly more pros than she once did to allowing the girl stay, in particularly, with her. Her room had not been the same since she had brought the flighty girl back to it, and she was pleasantly surprised to have _**liked **_the changes Clary had made.

When it was all said and done, maybe she would keep her room the same when her Nephilim returned home.

"True enough. Soon I'll have to start sending them Asa's way so they don't start wailing how I neglect them so."

In a sudden instant, the younger twin stood up abruptly, with nary an apology to his siblings, sauntering over to their old rickety nook. Perking up, both Vianey and Mica leaned in; ready to jump in on what they could only assume would end with a territory battle they were floored when the boy did not pick a fight. Instead, he dropped down into the third chair with almost the air of invite, and both the Nephilim looked at him as if he had sprouted three new heads. He began talking without a prompt, only something that Asa could do as he helped himself to their food.

"That was the first thing you ever killed, wasn't it?" The boy dropped to Clary's side in the only unoccupied seat at the small table, and he nudged her with his bony shoulder as he shifted to sit as close to her as possible with a wickedly attractive smile, the best and most charming he could muster. She felt a bit crowded. He wasn't as bulky as the other brother was, but Asa was still pretty thick across, and his muscles were apparent though they were leaner like Vianey's. If he had the right parts, Clary could see them closer as twins than the two brothers. He leaned forward, smiling back along his shoulder as he melded into the table. He, like his sister had a wide- set jaw, and when he smiled she could see a wolfish nature to his teeth from canines to molars. His eyes sparkled at her, a glorious bronze color in the firelight and the smile reached his eyes, lighting them in a blaze she had often seen in the glory of warriors come home victorious.

"Sorry I growled at you the other day. I'm not used to waking up to Nephilim gallivanting around my home without any fore mention from anyone. I thought you were an intruder."

"You knew who I was though, didn't you? Otherwise you would have attacked me." Her voice was short and clipped as she looked to Simon for any help he might give. It was easy enough to tell the boy was a third wheel and unwanted here, but he persisted all the same.

Asa laughed, looking away momentarily as he ran his fingers through his jaggedly cut hair. She obviously had enough sense to know how a werewolf should act when it felt threatened and that there was a very vast difference from it and what he had done. He backed down, he hesitated. Instincts had kicked in upon his first glance, and it floored him, demanding he listen and take heed. "Of course I knew you. How could I not know who you were when you look so much like your mother?"

Clary looked from her plate to the pendant that fell across his collarbone, wrapped twice around his throat. It was the same sharp pointed clover that his sister wore around her neck but it was looser, falling to slide over the flesh between his pectorals in the ridge of his sternum. The flesh gleamed from around the gold pendant, shimmering with a light layer of sweat that Clary immediately attributed to the heat in the cave; there were too many people here not to be affected by the amassed body heat, enough heat that it was easy to forget that it was winter, or close to it, outside. Her eyes dropped lower, beneath the curling cross to the fabric of his black tank top, wafer thin and form fitting, which gave no tell that he was at all affected by the dining room's temperature.

"Saw anything you liked?" Leaning in his breath washed over her in hot, minty bursts. Her skin rose to gooseflesh and she shivered as his hand embraced her by the upper arm and slithered up her to shoulder. _**"You. Were. Staring…"**_

He reached deeper forward, his hand curling a lock of her hair around his dexterous fingers. They were warm, like his breath, and as they twirled beside her ear, she swore she felt his face drawing nearer to hers. Vaguely, she realized she was staring at his thick lips and wondered if they were warm as well. It was strangely familiar, even though she knew she had never kissed this boy before.

"I hope you know that you're beautiful." He was so close now. She could smell him, feel his warmth all over again. Was it just Asa that had issues with personal space or was it all werewolves? Leaning over, he kissed her cheek with a muted brushing of his lips along the sharp plane of her cheekbone, and after a second of hesitation, pressed a harder, more than friendly kiss beside her lips. It was moist, and as his lips made increasingly more friction, his hand churned around hers, maneuvering so that they were sitting with their thighs pressed together and their hands curled together on his lap.

"I'm sorry, I can't." Clary jumped up, distancing herself from the boy. She stood up, taking a step back from the table as if the space might save her if he intended to do something improper.

He stared after her, a bit in shock. This was not what he had been expecting. Girls normally threw themselves at his brother. Why was he any different when they looked exactly the same? The first girl he took a chance with might have been the worst to start down this particular path with, he supposed. Her being a Nephilim and the adopted daughter of the current hand of power, his chances of keeping her were likely to be minimal, and if he did gain her approval would only mean a struggle for dominance from others in the pack. As she was now, Clary was untouchable, unattainable. She had the protection of her birthright and her mother's husband to protect her until she announced that she was ready to court, or in a different world or perhaps a different pack even, be traded away strategically. Once she accepted any man as an equal, the real blood bath would begin as every and any man came at her with all they were.

He stood up after her, his hand reaching out to catch at her wrist to stop her retreat, "Clarissa-"

Simon put himself in the way of the other boy before he was able to touch his Parabatai, to try and take any sort of advantage of her trusting nature, and his hands shoved the boy away from the unsuspecting girl roughly; Clary was a bit dazed at his back, but she righted herself quickly enough, her hands tightening against Simon's shoulder blades as he tried to loom threateningly enough between the girl and the werewolf that the numbskull might get the hint and back off his partner. Asa recovered quickly. The chair he had been perched in had suffered most of the damage of the fall, one of the legs bent if not broken altogether as he toppled over in it.

He stood up, dusting himself quickly. It took only moments to right himself and his clothes to be as presentable as he wanted to be before he raised a very dangerous glare that made Simon immediately feel as if he were melting, the hair on his arms rising to stand on end. His pupils were dilated, large and scarier than Simon would have imagined and as he stepped closer, a deep foreboding feeling overtook the Nephilim boy enough to give a gentle push to get the girl he hid to move away from the probable fight.

"Clary, go." The sternness in his voice shook her deeply, and the girl quickly high tailed it away. She had no real place to escape to, not really, and so she hesitated once she hit the doorway, turning back to watch from the relative distance she deemed safe enough. Simon couldn't be that mad at her for sticking around, could he? They were Parabatai after all. What kind of partner would she be if she abandoned him whenever he ordered her away?

Asa was as embarrassed as he was furious. It was one thing to be rebuffed by the lady you were trying to charm, and another altogether when her _**could- be- nothing- but- platonic**_ partner did it for her. It took on an edge that felt like he was unworthy of her discarding, that and perhaps, maybe, jealousy.

"You together, Nephilim?" the black haired man whispered softly, so quiet Simon was certain that he was the only one privy to what was actually said as the other boy loomed over him, threateningly close. Simon had not expected the boy to be quite that large from the looks of him. His voice was dark and bitter as his eyes glared down hard on him, "Thought that was against some _**righteous **_law you people had…"

Simon's head dropped in defeat as he acknowledged the boy with a shake of his head. He could never be Clary's lover, though he loved the girl beyond measure. She was the best thing in his life and deserved only good things. The best things, which he could never give her. Luckily, he doubted this boy could, either.

"Good. You won't mind if I try a pass at her then?" there was a soft glimmer to his tone, and his lips pulled away to expose a gentle smile that did nothing to soothe Simon's nerves. There was an underlying threat in his tone, and the smile wasn't really complacent than it was victorious, like Simon had handed Clary to him on a silver platter. "It _**really would**_ make everyone around here settle down if she was at the very least tied with one of our kind."

His brother and sister seemed bothered by the exchange but didn't step up to say anything against it. After the tension seemed to spread around the room and had captured the attentions of more than enough people to spread the rumor of a fight like wildfire among the entire back, the other brother sauntered over, clipped him over his neck with his forearm and half dragged the smaller boy away with the authoritative posture that Simon supposed was unique to male werewolves. Mica had intervened in a blood spill, but said nothing as far as a reprimand to his beta male as he led them out of the room to god knows where. After a few staggering, floundering and awkward side steps, Asa pulled himself up- right, twisting so he was shoulder to shoulder with the other boy and stepped with purpose to follow his twin's lead as he sung his arm around the boy's shoulders. Vianey fell behind them after giving Simon one last withering look, something that meant certain death would be dealt should he or anyone else choose to follow, and as she followed with a light speed, Clary jerked involuntarily at the doorway, as if she felt like she should follow the other girl after days of cohabitation, only to floor herself and demand her independent behavior.

If Simon so much as tried what Mica had with any of the Shadow hunters he knew, younger or otherwise, they would have floored and field dressed him in under a minute.

Looking to Clary, he couldn't help but feel defeated by her look of disappointment. She appeared to have wanted to be on friendly terms with these people. He, however did not.

"Do you have any idea of how much of a mess of things you just made, Simon?" exasperated, her shoulders sagged in defeat, far too deep to even begin to try to swim.

_**XOX**_

_**Real Quick Author's note: **_

_**This is the second of the three part chapter. **_

_**I'm trying to get the hang of segmenting chapters into smaller bits for everyone, **_

_**but I do apologize if this next chapter is longer in comparison to the first two. **_

_**The plus side of this method as I'm sure you all have noticed, is that you're getting chapters faster.**_

_**Update time on the third segment might be a bit longer to put out than this one, however. **_

_**Title inspired by the song **__**"Have a little Faith in Me"**_

_**Quick polls, I would like feedback on: **_

_**Does anyone really care what's going on with Jonathan?**_

_**Aaaaandd…**_

_**Would you like a flashback now or later?**_

_**As always, if you enjoyed it, share the love**_

_**Fave, follow, Review, Recommend.**_

_**Till next time.**_

_**TAORI**_


	13. So Have a Little Faith in Me

_**XOX**_

Throwing her jacket to the side, Clary's eyes darted this way and that as people started moving out of her way. She was so done with these people shoving her aside and walking all over her, and now she felt like her only option was to take someone down and make an example of them. Even the girl that had been the closest thing to a friend she had here was guilty of it, and she was fed up.

The incident in the dining room pointed a very barbed finger that even those she had considered herself safe by were at odds with her being here, and now she had to make herself a place respected by them before she found her or Simon in a very bad situation. They couldn't keep challenging them indefinitely without a very violent confrontation taking place. This was her bringing the fight forward on friendly terms.

Her Parabatai followed at her coat tails, and the light coat ended up cradled in his lengthy arms as he dodged out of its way. Whatever had gotten into her, this was not good. She looked likely to draw blood and it could be her own depending on how she proceeded with her rage.

"I challenge you, Lena!"

_**Oh God…**_ Simon found himself exasperating, as he hit the wall of werewolves that had turned to stare down his Nephilim partner. They must smell her or something, the way they all twitched to fix their eyes on her.

"Me?" called the middle child, and a bright smile lit up his face gloriously at the thought of the young Shadow hunter challenging him.

Clary snorted, rolling her eyes as she began to loosen up; it had been too long that she had remained idle and pretty, "You stupid enough to get into the ring with me?"

The room seemed to shift, closing in on her, and if she had been a lesser person, a weaker fighter, she might have felt anxiety at the obvious pack nature. As it were, the girl shifted from foot to foot as she rolled her shoulders in a smooth, punching motion, stretching the otherwise stiff muscles in an attempt to distract from her fidgeting. She had fought boys taller than the Lena's before, and boys thicker than them too but the combination seemed to be a daunting task.

Asa laughed, looking around the room as if everyone else that had been sparring were meant to join him and they did after a few moments as the slighter boy leapt from his perch beside Mica observing to approach her. Someone muttered something about trouble in paradise already, and the way he tread closer now, Clary could only assume he thought the same thing, like she was a wife he needed to put back into place. Most of the on- lookers laughed at the male in the crowd's joke as Asa reached out for her, only for her to step out from his outstretched hand. Clary struck out, slamming her elbow into the taller boy's neck with a flighty swiftness of a hummingbird, disarming him. The brown haired male crumpled forward, coughing hard as he fell to his knees, choking. Another hit, and the boy was sprawled on the ground, gasping for air that had left him abandoned with the Nephilim girl standing over him threateningly. He had not expected someone so delicate to have such strength in her punches, let alone the speed at which she moved; Asa had barely seen the oncoming attack, not even when she ducked closer to him faster than he'd seen anyone do before.

Leaning back on the ball of her foot, the green eyed girl waited patiently for her opponent to scrape himself off the floor before making her next move. She was more honorable than to keep kicking the poor boy when he was down, after all. As he weakly stood to his knees, bright his eyes golden as they darted up to warily watch her, she struck out towards his face, his elbow shooting up to block before she turned her point of attack downward and struck him with her knuckles in the opening he had gave her, directly below his ribcage, and she rapped sharply three times in a descending fashion that led him to forecast her next hit would be one that might temporarily make him a woman for at least half the day dependent on how merciful the strike was. She dropped lower with the movement too, her stance widening as she squatted and punched.

Perhaps, he had hit on the wrong woman earlier. Crumpling downward to cradle his groin as a preemptive measure, he missed the upward twist as the girl changed up her direction and socked him hard against his downward cast face, right into the right eye and his elegantly slender jerked with a sick cracking noise, blood squirting from his broken nose. The pressure knocked him backward and onto his back and to the growing crowd's feet where he weakly tried to draw back up to a more suitable fighting position for someone that entered this fight assuming they would win. The mob seized forward, hands all over as they tried to help him back to his feet, but there was a searching, healing nature to the way that those touched him ran their hands along his lithe muscles.

Mica was there in an instant, having leapt down from his post the second the tiny girl struck his brother; gently touching his twin brother's face with someone's abandoned shirt, the other boy swatted away his attention as the voices of their pack reached his ears. This was his fight and as a Lena, they were raised not to accept help in a fight.

"_That's hardly any way for one's bitch to act."_

"_Ought to put her back in her place before she starts thinkin-"_

"_If Krista or Isaia were still in power, none of this nonsense would be-"_

"_Damn it Asa, break her!"_

"_**TEEE- AYY- GĦIII!"**_ came the bright snarl from somewhere in the crowd. Some of the pack went immediately silent, looking to the youngest Lena expectantly as she moved forward through their ranks. Their voices had grated deeply on Vianey's nerves, the cries of blood- lust in her people twisting her like a balloon until she sat at the brink of explosion, and with a rough movement she shoved out of the mob and stomped into the ring barefooted. Her voice was so raw and full of emotion that the entire group went dead silent as they turned to ignore the two that had actually been in the fight to look at her.

Vianey had snarled something that Clary couldn't understand in a tongue she was not very familiar with, but loud enough she could hear it over the murmur of the crowd. Her companions however got the message quicker than she thought possible, and from the hiss, the group scrambling out of her way, and the younger sister yanked her lankier elder brother from the floor mat where he still reclined and forced him into crowd with a snarl that made him flinch more than the hands searching him for serious injuries did. His baby sister was_** furious. **_ _**"I se jikkastigaw kelbha tiegħi…"**_

It was touching for a moment, watching the younger sister reprimanding her brother like their roles were reversed, and for a mere moment, Clary thought she could pretend that she was back home again, fighting with Jonathan, and the calm argument that Alec and Isabelle had started at breakfast kept easing into their own argument as new fuel for their current fight as they picked sides with their destined Parabatai. Well, would have been, had Clary respected her father's wishes. Instead, she had hastily tied herself to someone that made her happy, and not someone that benefited her in any way shape or form. Simon was not as experienced as she was, not as strong as she was, but he was smart, so very intelligent, perhaps more so than Jonathan. It was what he brought to their union, and she so could not wait for all the intellectual battles they would win when they got home again.

_That,_ and the boy made her truly happy, for once in her life. It was hard to describe the feeling of completion and satisfaction she held ever since her mark burned beside his. It was like she had no idea there was some part of her missing until now, and beside him now, she could feel their bond reaching out to meld into one.

Looking back to Asa feigning against the pack that had swarmed him, Clary decided with a sigh that they were done here. Whatever she had come to do, it was done now, and perhaps she had won over a few more people. If not, she definitely had established herself as a strong target, one that could take on one of the Alpha's pups and _**win. **_With a small, smug smile, she turned towards the door, her head high as Vianey passed into the center of the ring, her bare toes curling against the cool floor as she balanced herself at the apex.

"Don't turn your back on me!" the cry ripped viciously out of the thin woman, and it came as such a surprise to Clary, who turned around just in time to see the fist that barely missed her cheek. It was warning shot, it had to be. There was no way the older girl could have been such a seasoned fighter and had missed the first shot, from _**behind **_nonetheless.

It wasn't. The first grabbed her neck and roughly and tried to swing her off her feet, making her stumble. Clary's small hands came up to grab a hold of her shoulders with almost a sense of frail fear as she tried to remain on her feet. Her reaction was something that normally Vianey would have reveled in in an opponent, and the effort came as a bit of surprise to her attacker, because this gesture only fueled her anger.

The Maltese girl lifted her leg and kicked out with her knee, hitting her rounded thigh on the outside hard enough that it crumpled and Clary's leg dropped hard out entirely from underneath her, slamming her to the ground like a rag doll and the larger woman twisted after her, her legs tangled around her slender frame as she was shoved hard against the wrestling mat by the momentum of their joined fall. Vianey was angrier than Clary could imagine.

The red head tried to roll out of the path of the vengeful girl, but the taller girl was much faster, dragging the petite girl back by her hair roughly, dragging her back to the ground as the hand fisted close to her scalp. It wasn't something Clary could have manage in her position though she desired to do it, but with the girl's lengthier arms and torso there was no chance she could have reached, never mind the fact that her hair which remained, that she could have had any chance at grabbing, was angled away from her available arm that hadn't been pinned beneath the Amazonian's thickly corded legs and her twisted body. She fought, trying to claw her way free instead, only to be backhanded hard enough to see stars as she fell limply to the mat. Dropping her seat to ground herself and lock the other girl in place, Vianey seized her by the shoulders, her lengthy nails biting into the tender flesh and with a similar strength of an ape trying to break open a coconut, the dark haired woman slammed her into the ground thrice, winding her before she drew away to admire her handiwork.

Clary wasn't stupid enough to strike out and defend herself. Instead, she just took it, playing dead until whatever had gotten into her guardian ran out. She could hear Simon call out, could hear the struggle as he hit the wall of werewolves that blocked his way to her as he screamed to be let in to help her. Clary didn't doubt what was going through his mind was that this would be her end and he couldn't as much as defend her before it came.

As always, this had been a one- on- one battle, and the pack was undoubtedly upset that even Vianey had interfered.

Her green eyes lulled shut, as her head fell back, more so weary than affected by the beating, though she could feel swelling amongst the tingling of adrenaline still rushing through her veins. Even disarmed on the ground, she felt completely alive. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she willed Simon to calm down before he went and did something drastic. Vianey was still on top of her for a few moments longer, her breathing almost as hard as her own, and the angel- borne couldn't help but notice how much the older girl radiated heat, it was almost like she had been submerged in a boiling bath, water dripping languidly across her caramel flesh, making her skin glow in the firelight. With every pant, her legs tightened on either side of her hips as her breasts heaved visibly. She would remember this moment, later on her own time, how beautifully wild the werewolf girl looked, and how shaken she suddenly was.

Raising her fist, the top girl struck the ground beside her head with a snarl, disheveling her lovely hair in the process. She was growing angrier as the minutes ticking by, so much that she wanted to howl at her, bash her pretty little face in until she was unrecognizable. She didn't want Clary's submission, she wanted her passion. That way when she finally accepted her defeat she would understand her place.

Stomaching the scream she wanted to release, she dismounted with a flourish, not touching her at all as she rose and kicked out to step over her crumpled form. It wouldn't do for her intentions to bloody her too much.

_**Stay down….**_ Vianey prayed as she stomped away, her head down as she listened for any sign of movement. The dark haired girl had almost reached edge of the ring near the door when she had heard it, the noise she had been surprised not to hear much sooner.

Finally, Simon had enough time to break through, crashing into the ring with the speed of a short distance runner; Simon rushed her from behind, slamming her hard across the back of the head, with something he had stolen from one of the training werewolves, sending her sprawling. She crumpled to her knees, her hand coming to tenderly touch the crown of her skull, obviously dazed, and Simon backed towards Clary, the practice baton he had yanked from the unsuspecting pack member brandished outward as the pack seized forward. It was obvious that they meant him harm, having made no promise to keep him alive to Lucian like they had Clary.

They would tear them apart, given the chance.

"No, it's fine." Vianey's voice was soft, but everyone heard her anyway as she weakly rose to her feet, turning to look at the Parabatai couple with her hand still cradling the base of her skull, "Nephilim aren't raised to fight their own battles. It wouldn't be right to force them to do so now, especially after so great of a disadvantage. Two on one, now that's a fair fight. Maybe, I won't be able to wipe the floor with you if there are two of you coming at me."

Simon was already helping Clary to her feet, but the red head didn't seem to be paying him any attention as Vianey glared angrily at them. They met eyes for a moment before Clary wrenched herself back to her feet with an air that she was weightless and unhurt, leveling her with an even darker glare as the intent of the Lena girl's words settled on her.

"And you can turn if you need to!" Clary called as she turned on her again. "We know how much your kind hates to have to use _**civilized**_ combat."

The other girl had bruised her pretty bad already, something she had not imagined ever happening, but Vianey suddenly looked like the cornered beast. Her wide eyes looked up with something akin to fear that the Nephilim couldn't quite place. The room froze around them and suddenly, Vianey had stood and was sprinting from the room.

Clary tried to follow, but the room had folded forward, blocking her way with the darkest of disapproval she had ever seen on any of their faces.

Even Asa refused to make eye with her.

What _**had **_she said that offended these thick skinned people so much?

_**XOX**_

Clary had stomped off on her own after the fight to the old room she had been originally placed in, and after a while grew bored of staring at the damp ceiling, of counting her own heart beats as they came down. She supposed she ought to eat again, but so short after the confrontation in the dining room and then the practice room, the young angelic girl felt like showing up to dinner would be nothing short of disastrous. What she yearned for now, was the outside planes, the hills and green and sunlight, by the Angel how she missed the sun.

Settling on the decision to at least go and retrieve food and bring it to the safety of her bedroom, Clary rose weakly from the cot, intending on forcing her way to the kitchen as quietly as she could with as much bruising as she had sustained.

"A little birdie told me that you've been to see your sister this morning." A gruff voice murmured softly behind her, and Clary didn't have enough time to think as she whipped around. Luke was there standing, leaning beside her door so close to the threshold that she was immediately surprised she hadn't seen him let alone brushed against him on the way out. He smiled warmly at her, the aged look to his face as it wrinkled up setting a feeling of familiarity in her, and a few hazy images passed her mind that she shook away.

Had he… held her? No, surely not. Luke had supposedly died right before Jonathan had been born.

The man walked past her, and Clary found herself following despite there being no vocal command for her to do so. She stayed right at the man's side as she observed him, the way he moved, the undoubtable Nephilim nature to it. He seemed to know he was the authority here.

"Sister?" she reflected brightly, and her face contorted to an expression of confusion, like the man before her had gone mad.

"Well, _**half-**_ sister if you preferred it…" the salt and pepper haired man replied, regarding her with the same eyes of the little girl this morning, "Though Adele hasn't stopped yammering about you all day. Apparently, you make quite the impression on two year olds. She's been yelling for you all day."

His smile was genuine.

"Adele?" Her voice sounded off even to her, and she tried to connect the name to a face besides the elderly woman that remained at home in Idris. Eventually the image of the young werewolf in the pup- den flashed through her mind and she recognized those eyes, that hair. She was a fairly well combined offspring, with both her mother's and Luke's attributes that she had not immediately pinned down her parentage.

"After your grandmother; your mother wanted to name _**you**_ after her actually, but well, your father always gets what he wants. He insisted you be named after his own mother, and your mother was pressured to accept; he had after all, already agreed with her to name you Clarissa after mine." Clary turned suddenly at the comment, but when she tried to say something to the man, he chose to continue on, cutting her off. "She asked, when your sister was born, if I minded if we might name her after her mother and I could do nothing but agree. Your mother had already fulfilled all of my wishes just coming here and all of my dreams the moment she handed me your sister. She could have asked for anything, the world, and I would have been inclined to give it to her, served on a silver platter."

His cool gaze turned softly to settle on hers, contemplative in nature, "I would do the same for you too, Clary. Regardless of what may have happened, I regret as much as your mother does that we were not a more fixed part of your life. I would have loved to have held you, to watch you grow, to become the woman you are now, even if it had been from the sidelines, but now that we are, we won't be so easily shaken off. We're here to stay, now that you're finally free, Clary, and I will see to it that you are allowed to stay here, as long as you would like."

"You're not making me stay?"

"No, you're free to leave whenever you would like, though I would strongly suggest that it not be back to Fairchild Manor."

"But Vianey-"

"A matter of protection. She, out of anyone in the pack understands what it means to be different, to be strange to those you desire to love and be loved by. We knew you would be safe with her."

With a snort, Clary rolled her eyes, "Oh yeah, she's so unusual. She brushes her fur a totally different way and likes to wear her brothers' clothes, and all the other werewolves hate her for-"

"Vianey's a human," Lucian clarified, gesturing into a room they had reached, to the girl in question, whom sat at yet another table making erratic gestures with her hands to her definitely werewolf elder brother, tail and all as it swept rapidly to and fro lowly as her excitement grew. The two watched as she grabbed hold of his hands, turning them around in hers and carefully linking their fingers like all of his fingertips were razor blades that might sever hers.

"You... _**what?**_ Turning back to Lucian, it almost hurt the once Shadow hunter man to see that look on her face, so like her mother's, telling him that he had not lived up to her expectations, had fallen very much too short. It would truly make him a monster to have done so, but she almost seemed to want that from him, to see the monstrosity her father had made him into brought to light. "_**No one**_ changed her?"

He forced a half smile on as he wrapped a darkly tanned arm over her thin shoulders as he would do his own daughter one day, as he had the pups of the clan when they found themselves questioning what they were, and what it meant to be Lycanthrope. "No, and I would not force anyone to bear the harshness of the change as I had, nor this life. Her brothers protect her, but I'm sure they see this as the rest of the pack does; we are pleased to have Vianey and you and Simon with us, Clary, but the realities of our lives are harsh at best. If you have the chance to, the choice, you deserve the ability to leave such a life if you want to, and no one here in my pack would take away something so valuable from anyone. "

Clary nodded, understanding his words entirely. Had that been why her mother had remained unchanged? Why have children, then, if you abhorred your own lifestyle? Why damn an infant to such a fate knowingly?

"That girl probably wishes for nothing else though. She's known nothing but this life, but she should have the right to leave all the same."

The arm that ran along her shoulders began to bother her more than the questions. It felt comforting, like she could melt in his arms and he would remain strong enough to hold her, to protect her. Was this a werewolf thing, an adult father- figure thing or simply a Lucian Graymark thing? She was struggling to remember a time where her father made her feel this safe. Coming up with nothing, her mind turned to her mother, and despite her comfort, shifted beneath him so she slid away. She turned, back stepping and the small red head hoped she had sent a strong enough message on her stance on him touching her, ever.

"Wait." Her voice cut, full of confusion as her face scrunched up as her brain tried to catch up on what she had heard. "_**Vianey is a human?**_"

Luke simply nodded, folding his arms across his chest as he continued watching the Lenas, not exactly looking her in the eye, but had his head inclined in such a way that Clary knew it was an answer, as much of one that she would be getting, at least. He was going to let her think this through before he had any more input to the conversation. He smiled softly, however, finding humor in the fact that it had just settled on her what he had said.

"But her brothers are both-" she cut off as dawning settled on her finally. She shrunk, limply collapsing in on herself as her hand came to cover her mouth in shock. "They're not… They're not her brothers, _**are they, Luke**_? That's the only way that could be possible; the Lycanthrope plague is spread by blood, from parent to child just as Nephilim always breed Nephilim. How else could she-"

"Is that right?" The man smiled at her, a tired smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. Clary shut up quickly, turning inward as she tried to scrape together any other explanation she could think of. "I suppose the truth never will surface as both of her parents are dead, but her father certainly seemed to believe that his wife had been unfaithful to him. Killed her as soon as he smelled the new babe, so I've heard, straight away before she had finished delivering. Fairly nasty business, killing ones wife, but Isaia wasn't really one for common sense. Probably would have turned on the two sons had they not looked so much like he did."

"It's the whole reason why his defeat went as smoothly as it did. The pack hated him by the end, so much so that they didn't much mind a turned Shadow hunter as their pack leader. It took years before anyone decided to challenge me, and that was after I had announced my intent on bringing your mother here."

"How was that settled? I mean, obviously you're against death, and you kept my mother. So how exactly did you manage that?"

Finally, the bright smile from before returned and he laughed, actually laughed, as he caught the girl by the back of her head, roughing up her hair in a loving manner, "What _**do you**_ think I did, Clary?"

"I married your mother, and we had Adele. It's just how wolves settle the air, once they know the threat is gone, everything is back to normal. Don't worry; you're young enough that no one is going to do anything quite so desperate to keep you. Eventually they will all forgive and forget that you were born Nephilim if you do choose to stay, but it will take some time."

With that he left, his destination undoubtedly the den of young ones that were already crying his name from the doorway.

'_**I just hope that humans are of a similar nature.'**_ Clary found herself thinking as she ran her hand over her face, dragging her bottom lip away as she exasperatedly sighed. She found herself turning to look back up to Vianey, the smile that had lit up her entire face falling away as her features pinched together, and suddenly all three were looking stunned as they scrambled to their feet. _**Boy, have I fucked up royally.**_

XOX

"_**SON OF A BITCH!**_ ISABELLE, WHAT the _**FUCK **_IS THAT!?" Alec found himself crying out as he dumped half the slosh _'accidentally'_ into a nearby bush. His chest was burning from trying to catch his breath, and the desire to eat soap had never been as strong as it was right now. Weren't girls supposed to be naturally good at these things? He'd never had her cook for him before, but surely he remembered her making small things before, edible things, that she herself had eaten.

Spooning the thick goop in her bowl, the dark eyed beauty pulled the spoon out and turned it sideways. The liquid inside did not slide off, "Not sure. I'd call it a soup, I think…"

"Never again." Jace swore, chucking the whole bowl into the woods with an air of finality, "Not ever. I'd rather eat the charred intestines of a demon seasoned in their own poisons."

"Alec for all intents and purposes, your officially the troupe's bitch now."

_**XOX**_

Simon, her poor sweet Si, had approached the siblings. He had washed himself up, bless him, and appeared to be trying to make the most of himself and his posture, despite being too thin to really appear threatening.

Vianey stood first, leaning over the round table that separated them with her hand tight on the edge and a brother on either side of her glaring at him dark enough that he should have given up before he reached the space between the two larger boys.

'_**I think we got off on the wrong foot' **_his Parabatai imagined he might say, and his hand reached out, touching the newly-recognized human on the hand, her face looking quickly down to his longer, warmer hand encircling hers._** 'or paw..'**_ he may joke

'_**All of them'**_ Vianey would reply as Clary imagined she would, bitterly, and she yanked her soft hand out from beneath him, _**'especially that one.'**_

Then, Clary imagined, they would have exchange words, fought a bit. Perhaps Vianey would have struck Simon for touching her so familiarly; perhaps Simon would have cracked another joke that took something too far.

It didn't really matter what she would have imagined ought to have happened. It is what did. A noise, like a held musical note, low and heavy enough that it gave everyone in the room chills filled everyone's ears, and just as Simon touched her hand, The Lena brothers had reached out and hauled him around the table and behind them. Certain it meant a fight, Clary bolted into the dining room, her hand settling at her hip despite the absence of her blade.

The green eyed youth paused on her darting passage across the room, looking to the only other entrance to the room, deeper than she had ever intended to go where the noise was coming from. It had the werewolves' undivided attention, but it was annoying at best to the Nephilim who stood by confused as everyone began acting like it was an entity that affected them so. The girl slowed, her eyes trained on the doorway as a flash of silver came into sight and swung back into the dark abyss beyond and then back into the light again where it repeated the motion. People were gathering on the second floor now, _**the Alphas**_, she noted with a sense of distaste, and her mother among them as they came one by one to the balcony railing. Eventually, she came up beside Simon, and Vianey turned back momentarily to rake her over with her golden- splashed eyes, and finding her satisfactory, looked the way the entire room stared once more.

One right after the other, the strangest people Clary had ever seen sauntered in from the darkness, all dressed in similar fabrics of muted metal, and at the head of the pack was a thin, bony woman with luscious blonde hair cascading over her shoulders and back in thick curls with a bounciness to them that they stood apart from the slinky silver- champagne gown that they otherwise would have blended into; the filmy fabric clung to her like she had been drenched on the way in, illuminated and washed out of really any color by the eerie blue glow of the floor and as she glided across the floor, she swayed seductively like water with her hand reached out to try to brush across several of the werewolves as she passed them by, only to be rebuffed or have them dodge her outstretched fingers.

She didn't seem bothered by their evasion, rather pleased by it, and the smile that overtook her blood red lips deepened considerably as an increasing number of the pack began to huddle, their eyes adverting downward to watch the newcomers but not meeting their eyes.

A man that had followed at her side, a Hispanic late teen, with rather shaggy hair slowly let his hand fall down, and the spinning trinket he had been swinging on a long chain came to a rocking halt like a pendulum. He slowly wrapped it up, tucking the cylindrical bit of silver into the pale bronze coat pocket where normally Clary had seen flowers pinned.

"Lucian Graymark!"

The pale woman stopped at the center of the grand hall, her bright green eyes floating along the balcony where the leaders Clary had identified stood idly by, mutely observing. The moment the woman had opened her mouth, the angel- borne girl knew that she was a vampire

"Come out; come out, where ever you are!" Her voice was sing song, and it created a sort of round with her people as they all joined in in an echoed- effect. The bony hands raised and waved out the tempo for several moments that her traveling companions struck out. She seemed pleased enough with herself that she had gotten more people riled upon coming into the room, and from the safety of where she had been standing behind Vianey, Clary wondered where her mother's new husband could be now, if he really were just down the hall with his daughter, and what he had done to gain a visit from such a woman and her troupe. Too soon, she became very serious, and the hand that had given the melody tempo signed for silence and it fell over more than her lovely followers. The werewolves too had gone mute as well, and all stood still while she remained animated. "We come bearing a gracious gift from the one you so _**unintelligibly**_ scorned!"

"Come now!" came the voice from the man that stood directly behind her, away from the others they had come in with. The distance felt almost symbolic, like he was the only one on equal standing with the pale beauty. He, like the whited out woman, was gorgeous but sickly thin, with a thick mop of dark chocolate hair that was parted to one side and fell shaggily to his shoulders in wispy curls to the bronze coat. He could have been a play- boy, had it not been the unnatural look to his gaze that he raked across the room. His hand ran through the thick brown hair as he eyed the corners of the room, "If not you Lucian, then any of your Alpha ilk will do! Come! My Lady Belcourt has been so good to you, she bartered you down from a fleet of hounds to only a handful, and the least you ought to do is face her now!"

A willowy blonde bolted forward, slamming hard against the balcony in her earnest rush to the front of the crowd. Her chest heaved hard, as if she had been running or had to fight to get to the front, but she seemed very much afraid, to Clary at least, as if whatever it was that had startled her was a looming disaster, "It was her, then, wasn't it? We knew what it meant to invoke the wrath of Phosph-"

"ANTANIA!" someone interjected angrily from the growing mob on the ground, in a deep snarl that had Clary herself looking rapidly around the room trying to match the sound of the anguished cry to a face. In her search, she caught sight of the pale pallor that Simon had taken on, and he stared at the silvery blonde woman that seemed too busy scanning the room to notice his raised gaze that was fixed upon her with an intensity that could start a blaze. He swallowed hard, and his Parabatai's hand found his, trying to soothe his shattered nerves. It seemed to help, or at least that's what Clary tried to assuage herself by thinking. Looking back to the blonde werewolf on the second floor, it did not help her gut feeling that the woman was now shrieking hysterically, and had fallen against the amass of wolves that had surge forth to catch her. Kito was among them, and he practically threw the thin woman back into the crowd behind him as if he would be the only defense she might ever need. Kito looked about ready to take on the world, and no doubt would have had it not been for the sharp intake of breath from the woman that stood regally before the crowd.

"_**Someone**_ had to pay." The boy called, his head swaying to- and- fro as he smiled wickedly, and he was tossed something which he then swung from his outstretched fist, something lumpy and unrecognizable and bloody, but from the response of Kito and the woman, they _**had**_ from their perch above everyone else. "We prefer that it was one of yours rather than ours."

"Raphael… enough…" her head inclined, and though there was no difference in intonation, there was a threat there, lingering beneath the surface.

"_**Camille…"**_ Simon's voice startled her, so soft and brokenly whispered. It was almost as if she hadn't heard it at all, but from his tightening hand in her own, she knew he had cried out. The woman smiled, a wide flash of fangs behind ruby red lips that made a deep- boned chill She probably only imagined it, but at the first inflection of his voice, it looked like the vampiress had _**heard**_ Simon, her head twitching minutely in their direction before her gaze moved on.

"Camille," Luke called from the doorway. He looked a bit disheveled, but held together quite well, and he looked at the intruders to his home with a sense of disdain as he made his way further into the room

"Clary, go." The tightness in Simon's voice startled her. There was a desperate nature to his tone now, panic spreading over his face in flashes he tried to keep neutral. "We have to go, _**now**_."

"Luciiiaaannn…" she practically purred and the hand that had swept through the crowds reached delicately for him in an offering Clary knew she couldn't take if she were in the man's shoes. She moved like a cloud along the floor, meeting the werewolf alpha expectantly and they touched their hands together almost frailly, like neither really wished to be touching the other.

"Camille…"

Lucian managed to sound pleased to see her, and the fingers that rested in his palm were kissed out of respectability than anything else, but she seemed pleased with his decorum and recognition of her status within her own race.

Here, however, she was just a Vampire

"It's so noble!" she began brightly, turning from him and eying the crowd, "So stupid, too, that so many would lay their faith in one man and his_** silly **_ideals. I do believe that girl would have thrown herself at me, given the chance. Veronique, wasn't it? Kito, my love, you must control that little spitfire, else she might irk the ire of the wrong foe."

There was a musical note to her tone, almost sing- song as its litany filled the room.

She smiled brightly, and Clary found herself suddenly lost again as the woman looked about the room expectantly. No one else had moved a muscle.

"Our Great One sends her deepest regards," drawled the woman regally as she considered her manicure with hooded, sharp green eyes that matched her pale polish. She sounded too stuck up to be very sociable, but Luke considered her appropriately all the same, his eyes trained on the intruder as she lifted her gaze to consider him, and her hands fell before her to clasp one another bellow her hips. His hand rested at his hip, as if looking for his blade unknowingly. Clary supposed instinct was not just simply snuffed out when you changed species. Sometimes, survival took over and guided your actions.

"I thank your Lady's patience. I hope you will pass on the message, Camille."

Her eyes rose and she batted her eyes at him coyly as she pouted her lips, "Your _**apologies**_ have already been heard, Lucian. You will not receive the same _**courtesy twice**_. "

"Our Lady also hopes you enjoyed the consolation prize that was sent to you a fortnight ago, since you did not partake in the _**festivities.**_"

"Is that a threat, Vampiress?" came a dark, deep voice. It was like an infernal match, and as it struck, it caught fire in all of the creatures in the room but the blonde haired woman and her servant- guards stood unbothered by the bluntness. The vampires looked to the black man that had risen out of the masses to threateningly stand among Luke, though across the room, united. "It is one thing to threaten one pack, but you think to threaten us all, the strongest and worthiest of our race? I thought the Night Children were supposed to be _**intelligent!**_"

A very close voice snarled something like ripping fabric, and Clary found herself glancing back to see Vianey's elder brothers standing at her side, and Asa's hand came up to the clench Mica's larger bicep as they turned to block out the younger girls. Clary could see nothing through the bulk of their torsos, but she could hear the cackling laughter, and too soon she understood what had been said was some slight on the being the Vampire woman had been talking up since coming here.

Clary was very interested in the going ons with the newcomers as well. Everyone in the room was on edge now that Kito had spoken, and she could hear the rumble of many people snarling, and the tension was on the rise, crescendoing until it felt like the walls were about to begin shaking. The elder girl beside her seized her upper arm, and urged her towards the hallway that led deeper into the catacombs where Luke had come from with a firm torso ramming into her smaller one as she tried to shield and guide at the same time.

It would only be a few moments before the entire pack was upon them. Two alphas were being threatened now.

"I don't think you quite understand the _**brevity**_ of the situation. Lucian_**, explain**_ it to the brute. He must not understand how this works." Glancing to Luke, she quirked her head to the side with a wicked little smile, "You survived this time, but her wrath grows, Lycans. Our Mo-"

The woman turned, fixing her huge green eyes on the twin brothers, and she paused, momentarily confused. She shook it off almost immediately, like it was a dizzy spell, but the expression didn't disappear entirely from her rounded face but rather melted into one of feigned concern and care as her gaze remained stuck on Mica as if she expected him to suddenly change. Eventually she smiled, almost tenderly as she purred out her pleasure at their loss, "_**Poor**_ little _**l**_y~ _**c**_an~ _**t**_hropes~! _**No one**_ to protect you. _**No one**_ to care. _**Our**_ mother lives on and _**yours has abandoned you**_ to death and decay at the hands of those that once fed you and held you in _**highest regard.**_" Her voice was all laughter and musically spat at that, the start of each word accented into a tiny dagger that cut with every breath; she cackled to herself out of morbid mirth, the absolute joy she took from their pain spreading to contort her face as she began to clap her hands softly together.

"You have but a month, my dear Werewolves. Prepare yourselves. For _**war**_…. To _**die..**_. The decision is entirely up to you." Looking around, her face scrunched up in distaste as her hand rose and waved at the state of his men. She seemed condescending at long last, and the malevolence made its way to her lovely, pale face as she turned to sneer down her nose at Lucian. "Even if it **_does_** appear that you've already made up your mind..."

_**XOX**_

_**Author's note:**_

_**Who is the mother Camille and Raphael speak of? GO look, I challenge you all, try to figure it out. I feel that I gave you enough hints on their identity. What I will tell you is its baaaaaddd news to be on their bad side, and Camille is being a Good Samaritan as well as being a hoity toity B.**_

_**For those of you wondering, we're reaching about a month and a half by the end of this chapter as far as time lines go. Jace, Alec and Isabelle really only have a month left before the deep freeze hits and they could possibly freeze to death outside**_

_**Quick explanation and backstory: The Lena's (Mica/Asa (21), Vianey (15)) are the children of the prior pack alpha, Isaia, the werewolf leader in Idris that Luke killed after he turned him. Their mother was a human woman that he had somehow obtained, a fairly pretty woman that upon coming to the pack, he immediately had Asa and Mica with (probably rape, in my mind that is what it was, but as far as the story goes it doesn't much matter one way or another). She did not love Isaia, not at all. This is a strong memory of Asa and Mica's, the contempt in their mother's eyes when she looked at their father.**_

_**With heirs to hand down the family name and pack to, he left her alone for a few years until it seemed they were mellowing into something amicable rather than their violent start and he tried to reform whatever connection they had. It worked, to his knowledge, and he and his wife prepared for a third child, whom he had no real reason to suspect wasn't his. It's commonly thought that all werewolves breed out werewolves, regardless of the second parentage much like Shadow hunters do, so when Vianey came out perfectly human, there was only one explanation to him, which is the same conclusion Clary reaches in the story, the logical one that one with hard facts presented to them as the only truth would believe. It is, possible however that Vianey's mother had been entirely faithful, but she was never given that chance to defend herself from her husband. We have to take his assumptions as fact at this point, even though there's still a possibility that she is his child. While the mother was still in labor, he killed her in front of her children (yikes, but keep that in mind with some of the things they do and say. There's something a bit twisted in all three of them) and was about to kill his daughter too when he had a change of heart and decided to leave her to die instead after Isaia's mother, Krista, intervened**_

_**Luckily for a whole lot of going- ons, Krista was establishing this whole it takes a village business (recall the old woman in the nursery? You're welcome XD) and the pack sort of took a stance on this whole killing babies nonsense. Even if Isaia wanted to kill his three children, I don't think it was going to be possible after all of this. Doesn't matter too much, either way, because Luke came with Valentine shortly after this and ta- dah! Regime change.**_

_**This affects the way they look at their position in the pack as well. The boys recognize that they're really being revered for their father,**_

_**Now the heart wrenching part: Vianey's nickname. I have already established that the kids are of Maltese descent somewhere since their introduction, so this may or may not come to anyone's surprise. That part of their parentage came from the mother, who spoke the language as her native tongue. Viviere was the last word their mother spoke. It was an order, a demand, an inquiry, so many things, but something any mother wants to know after birth. It was directed to anyone who would listen to her, and was responded at last by Krista before she passed away.**_

_**It means 'to live.' She was begging, pleading that her baby was still alive when any moment she knew she would not be. In that moment she was given her name "Vianey," or alive. It was a smack in her son's face and continues to be one. Isaia lost his temper enough to kill his wife but her bastard child is still alive, and now, the entire pack is protecting her.**_

_**Translations on what Vianey said: important to the storyline, but I'm not going to tell you quite yet. As this is more or less from someones perspective that didn't understand what was said, I'd like to keep that part true enough. Clary, and you too, readers, will eventually understand what Vianey said in that fight.**_

_**I may eventually write a flashback chapter, including the Circle going ons and the above, but it will be as an extra I think, since they really have nothing to do with the storyline.**_

_**Timeline in case anyone was wondering where we are at.**_

_**AUGUST 13 (or about **__**there-in) CLARYS**__** BDAY**_

_**Early- mid SEPT BIRTHDAY PARTY/ kidnapping.**_

_**Late October- Camille visits**_

_**NOVEMBER: this event Camille is talking about**_

_**The scenes of Jace and crew were meant to be longer, but added nothing to the plot line, so they were cut to a few humor cracks. If enough people want them, I may go back and beef them back up. They remain in there so everyone knows where they are on the whole searching situation, but not much else.**_

_**Enjoyed it?**_

_**Let me know!**_

_**REVIEW, FAVE, FOLLOW, RECOMMEND**_

_**Share the Love!**_

_**Till Next time**_

_**TAO RI**_


	14. Life Keeps Telling Me I Need To Go

_**XOX**_

Not until all of the finely dressed people had all disappeared back the way they came had anyone in the grand chamber calmed down at all. Some, like the Lena's and Simon, still seemed wound tight, more so those that had been on the same floor as the magnificent creatures, and Clary could see the raised hair of Mica's thick arm as he continued to shield his unsuspecting sister and those she protected.

If Clary had suspected that the youngest Lena might know anything about what had just happened, she was surely mistaken, and after one darting glance to the young woman, she instantly knew any attempts on the front of knowledge with her would be futile. She knew just as much as Clary and Simon at the moment, though she had better access to the information of rumors here than either of the Nephilim.

"That was Camille Belcourt. She's a baroness, one of the oldest vampires I know Clary. This is bad… so very, _**very**_ bad." Looking at her partner, Clary could see how shaken he was, and it transferred a bit to her. She had almost forgotten that the boy was still there; Simon's fingertips dug deep into her arm from when he had grabbed her earlier when he tried to urge her away, and his gaze remained fixated where the Vampiress and her coven had disappeared into the dark. He didn't often speak of the Bone Citadel or his life before he became an Ascendant, but she knew that there were horrors that no mortal should ever gaze upon within its walls, sights she had heard Simon crying over as he underwent the change and the shrieking terror that seized him did not relent, not even after the holy vengeance of the Nephilim blood filled his veins, but took him almost nightly. Not that he was suddenly forthcoming now, but the mention of his foreknowledge had her on edge, waiting for any new knowledge he might share.

"_She was terrified."_ The words fell from his lips like a deaf whisper, as if she might hear him talking of her and come back. She could feel his unease, like a flame lashing at her from the mark on the inside of her wrist, threatening to devour her entirely with its heat as it licked up her arm closer and closer to her heart where it might consume her if she allowed it. Swallowing hard, she stifled the feeling, blinking away the blindness that had come from focusing on his emotions, and looked to his stricken face.

"How could you tell? She looked perfectly content to me…"

Simon looked around uneasily, and the slight girl's fingers found his, sliding against his damp palm until she was able to link their fingers one by one to form a seam along his knuckles.

"There are some things that you simply just know, looking at your blood letter." He all but whispered as he turned to face her. Clary saw how nervous he looked, perhaps more so than the night he had changed, when he thought he would die to their cause. His head craned to the side sharply as if in sudden pain, and his hand shot to encompass his throat where scar tissue palely winked back at her from beneath the edge of his shirt collar. It was a ghost reaction, she was sure, and when her Parabatai looked to the doorway once more, her other hand went gently to the one at his neck, pulling it away to gaze at the mark that remained there as a memory of a life he had left behind.

She wanted to kiss it, to make it all better, and it had nothing to do with her unease. His upset bothered her more than it ever had, and she wondered if this was what it had been like for him when they were first kidnapped, worse maybe, that he couldn't even look at her to make sure she was really okay.

"You were that woman's subjugate?" curiosity always seemed to get the best of her, but Simon didn't answer. He was already responding to the tension in the dining hall, his eyes darting as they traced out the new culprit.

There was already something else going on, someone else that had seized control of the moment and was trying to gain attention and they startled apart, as the girl realized there was a new commotion, though Clary's hand still grasped Simon's over his throat. She tried stepping away, only to have her taller partner respond, and his other arm locked around her waist and dragged her out of the way as an elder werewolf bolted past them, not stopping as they hit the doorway to tear down the hall at top speeds.

"Everyone, to your rooms!" came a fairly sharp staccato voice behind them, and the groups still convening on the ground either began dispersing, or craned their necks to get a good look at the woman ordering them around. Amabel followed an elder woman with bright white- gold hair through the crowd, and they were ushering the grunts from the dining room with a finality that gave no room for questioning. Still against Simon, Clary raised on tip toe to look over his shoulder as the two women barreled through the mob on the ground floor. After only a moment's contemplation, Clary recognized the elder woman as the woman that screamed at the sight of whatever it was this '_Raphael_' had caught, the creases still apparent on her cheek from the tears she had no want to wipe away and from the redness of her eyes that had yet to fade. Her hand was tight around the younger girl's hand, as if she were terrified to lose her, and their fingers entwined with a bone- breaking strength, daring anything to try to separate them.

She was vaguely aware of a rushing sensation as people obeyed the command; the force of people rushing their direction as everyone seemed to part like startled cattle and her hand held Amabel's harder, desperation apparent as her head watched the distance between them.

Vianey moved forward, darting low through the masses hurrying towards them, her gait so rushed that neither of her brothers could have stopped her if they had seen what she was about to do, and she ended before the two that moved through the crowded room bellowing orders. "Veronique… Amabel… What is happening?"

With a quick look to the shadow cast by her own Alpha, the older blonde, Veronique, became suddenly tight lipped, her head shaking her firm decline before she dove back into the mobs with every effort to send people away from the room. The younger of the two was not as wise, and remained, her eyes darting from Vianey to the woman who had abandoned her before she spoke, knowing she was cornered.

"The Alphas wants everyone accounted for and safe," the girl whispered softly, nervously.

"Who's calling the orders around here?" Luke was suddenly behind them, drawn out again by the demands the girl had been shouting out, and both of the teenage girls jumped apart as if they had been caught doing something they shouldn't have.

Mica saved her the effort of responding when she was panicking; coming up behind his sister, Mica put his larger hand around her shoulders, his palm clasping the opposite shoulder blade as he turned her and curved their bodies together, her side molding against his comfortably as he looked to the other girl to make it quite apparent that he had saved the shaken blonde werewolf girl as both his sister and the girl calmed immediately the moment his husky aroma had settled over them, "Kito's seizing control of the Alphas upstairs."

He turned to look at Luke after a moments glance at the jittery blonde, commanding enough reason to speak to Luke directly and explain wall of what he knew to him, "He sent me to retrieve you; they need to convene immediately, to talk freely and plan their next move. The Alphas' know it was a werewolf that was killed, but we need to know who, Luke… Kito demands this, and you have no choice. If he were to call out a test of strength, he could seize this pack out from under you, and no one would stand in his way because he would have every right; it could have been his son, his daughter-"

The corn- silk haired girl responded violently, her hand shooting up to cover her mouth just as a soft cry escaped; her tall form did something akin to what Veronique had done earlier, her entire body cringing inward like a dog being beaten down and Clary could swear she saw a swell of familiarity in the blonde that she hadn't seen before. Mica panicked slightly, and he moved out from beside a very shocked Lucian Graymark and his nervous sister to grasp the willowy girl's bicep, drawing her close enough that she could hear his heart beat pounding hard against his ribcage. Clary tried her best to advert her gaze, knowing it was none of her business.

"Ama… It's _**not **_her. Your mother, she just went into shock. No one has any cause to go after her, there's no way this was an attack against your clan…."

_**Her mother…**_ that would have done it. Veronique was Amabel's mother, and whoever they had assumed had been killed must have been someone dear to them.

She would have conferred with Simon, had he seemed any more aware of the situation than she was, but he seemed to have turned inward, his eyes darting this way and that as he tried his hardest to recall something, and she knew what he was trying to draw up without asking.

He was desperately trying to remember if he knew of anything that would have shaken the woman that had waltzed into the cave and out again in under a half hour, leaving grim news and chaos behind her.

Bitterly, the young woman crossed her arms over her chest in a pouting nature that closed her off to the world in a symbolic way despite how easily the world could crush her very existence at the moment, and she dragged herself away from the much larger man, "Not that _**She **_needs any cause to go after anyone. We all know how that damned woman works, and it always seems like we werewolves are on the receiving end of her wrath..."

She looked away for a moment before her large, dark eyes looked back to him so full of emotion and despair that it was impossible to put her in her place for speaking that way before an Alpha, nor for the harsh way she would speak again, "But I should hope not, for our engagement's sake at least, Mica. You _**promised me**_ my sister would be alright out there."

She drew away then altogether and stormed off, her hair billowing out behind her as she stomped off back upstairs to report to one of the Alphas or another, but Clary was much more interested in what was now going on in front of her. Mica, however, watched her go, a mild look of disappointment on his normally laxly smooth face. He resigned to follow her as well, until a voice reached him and he froze, whipping back around to stare at the man he had called his Alpha since the days he still waddled and stumbled around in swathing. Luke had thought that Mica had looked up to no other man more, nor blindly defended them as much as this one boy had him. The role of pack Alpha was his undisputed birthright, and he had never claimed it, but _**now…**_

Luke watched Mica through half hooded lids, distrust or perhaps confusion scrunching his face up, _**"You wouldn't."**_

The tone was a question and an answer, needing no response as he corrected the boy with a muted sternness of a man that did not desire to rule or put anyone in their place but was about to if the situation didn't resolve itself, and for that Clary respected him, and had only assumed others here felt the same way to have allowed him to remain in power for so long, breaking so many rules for his own desire. He had to be a good leader, didn't he, to have such blind faith in his subordinates?

"What was that?" the beefier boy quirked a thick brow as he turned, and for a moment, Clary would have sworn she saw a flash of fangs, panic welling in her gut as she realized she was still unarmed and practically in the line of fire should either decide to attack.

Simon responded at last, making the girl assume she hadn't just imagined the brief snarl of teeth, and he came closer still and tried backing away slowly. Clary did not follow, forcing him to nervously remain at her side as she was firm in her footing like she could meld into the background with enough stillness and effort. Or perhaps, she couldn't move, too struck to do anything? Simon's grasp on her tightened and she found the earth moving beneath her feet as he tore her from her spot to a foot or so away, and she stumbled along.

"You said that _**no one**_ would stand up to his challenge, but what you mean to say is that _**you **_wouldn't," Luke did not raise his voice, only stared the other boy down as he turned and kept his guard up, "Piety and loyalty are earned, pup, and you have not lived up to be worthy of either yet. You think your loyalties are better suited in a man that would have had you killed years ago, than in the one that raised you as his own? In the man that stood against your father and lost his pack and had to seize it out from another, rather than the one that saved you and your pack from the tyranny of both?"

"Kito's not that bad-"

"No? You think him a saint, but he would see you crawling on your knees, boy." Go on, and walk away then, Mica Lena, but do not consider yourself a member of my household if you have such conviction against me and would turn your back on my kindness, but if you choose to walk away now know it was never out of my weakness that you lived."

"It was _**pity**_."

The boy did snarl then, his nose flaring dangerously and the larger werewolf considered a challenge then and there for the briefest of follies, before abandoning it all together.

"Come along, Vianey." Mica bellowed over his shoulder and for a moment he considered dragging her away without choice as the girl simply stood there, looking between Luke, her brother, and at last Clary, where her eyes stayed longer, harder, as if the garnet- haired girl could give her all the answers.

His sister saw it then, from the reflection of her own gaze in Clary's eyes, and turned to block the two Nephilim with her muscular form, arms outstretched as if she had any chance of protecting both from any harm. Clary didn't understand why either, and when the black- brown haired boy began to move away, she found herself about to move out from the shield she had formed.

The girl snarled, snatching at her thin arm roughly and dragging her back behind her as Mica turned back again, circling in a small arch just as Asa had that first day when she had first met him that had her dizzy trying to foresee his next move. Luke stepped up beside her as the girl remained firm in place, his arm hovering over her shoulders protectively.

"_**Vianey,**_ I told you_**-**_"

"Mica… should not ask me to choose." Her voice was soft, broken as her chin lifted defiantly; she did not speak to him, but in general, as if someone would relay the message to her elder brother, and her gold- hazel eyes looked anywhere but at him, and the room seemed to gobble them up. People were stopping again to watch the show, and though Clary couldn't see the girl's face she knew she was embarrassed by the slump of her shoulders, the way she seemed to ball up as if she could disappear from sight. Stepping up behind her taller form, the tiny hands of the Nephilim settled against the center of her back as she pressed her will of strength into her, because though this was not her fight, she did not desire an ill outcome in any fashion. Luke felt the shattering of her walls as much as Clary did, and his arm reached out to touch her fondly on the shoulder as she turned her gaze hard onto the floor beyond his face, and at long last lifted her eyes to bore into his, "He will not like the answer if he does."

"Inti tagħżel lilu matul lili, demm tiegħek?" he whispered softly, half under his breath as he looked at the girl with a pained expression. He seemed genuinely shocked by her refusal, and his gaze went from his sister to Luke and Clary with a snarl.

She was silent for a moment, heartbreak evident on her face. When she finally spoke again, it was but a whisper, though not one of embarrassment like Clary almost expected it to have sounded. It was clarity that seized her, an understanding.

"Nru Mica, tagħha. Imħabba tiegħi, biss tiegħi…"

The boy seemed torn for a minute, and he floundered for words to convince her to come along with him. Her response had startled him; all of the bystanders could see it in the tense muscles of his shoulder blades. His eyes burned hot, and jerked his chin hard towards the pack leader and the Nephilim before his voice broke, strained by the upset her response had sparked in him. "Għal kelbha? They can't possibly give you the life you deserve, Vi. You deserve more, hundreds; I will give them to you, everything you ever desire-"

"I don't want hundreds, Mica!" she cried, and Luke, startled stepped away from her as she stomped like a petulant child, though there was nothing spoiled about her, "I only want one, _**tiegħi**_. I've only ever needed one, and now that I've found it, I cannot _**betray**_ them!

"I love you, Mica, but if you make me choose, if you put-"

"Mica, a moment?" a voice called from above, and in an instant the boy had turned away again and was headed for the stairs without hesitation, to the dark skinned Alpha Clary could only assume was this Kito he was turning his back on Luke for. Vianey watched him go, her entire form shaking with withheld energy, and once he had disappeared upstairs, she crumpled in on herself, striking the ground hard enough to draw blood from her knees as she rocked forward, her hands rising up the only thing keeping her face from the gravel below as she curled inward in the lurching fall.

Clary followed her down, crouching low enough that she was able to hold her, and the elder girl dragged her crushingly close as she buried her face in the warm crook of the girl's neck as if she was ashamed to show her tears that the whole room could probably smell. Her long arms tightened, and Clary tried not to mind too much as her long nails dug into the back of her biceps and her shoulder blades where an injury she hadn't had the concern to look at yet began to sting a bit, signaling that the claw marks from where Vianey had grabbed her in their fight earlier had come apart, but she refused to let the taller girl go, drawing her closer as she pet her hair the way she somehow remembered Jocelyn doing once or twice in her infancy.

Simon saw it, and would have said something as the blood began to stain the dark twill fabric, but allowed his voice to fall fallow as her eyes rose up to meet his, her arms still around the larger girl's back. Luke received no muted message, however, and took the gentle path of untangling the mortal girl from the Nephilim's arms.

"Vianey, you have to let her go now, you all have to leave before one of the Alphas force you out," Luke tried to soothe her as well, and stooped down as well, his face falling to the side as he glanced at the blood seeping languidly along her back. He was trying to gauge the situation, she could feel it, trying to measure how hurt she was and by who, but Clary wished he would take his concern elsewhere before he made this into something it wasn't.

Vianey was refusing to release her, regardless of the urges of the Alpha, and Clary refused to demand it of her. Luke had little choice if he wanted them gone quickly, and with a gesture to Simon to back away, he drooped closer to the two girls, his forehead pressed against his pack mate's affectionately. His lips moved beside her ear for her only, and she yanked back immediately, her hands coming up to find that the tips of her nails and fingers had become bloodied and she practically jumped away.

"_**You're hurting her, Vianey. Clary's bleeding."**_

The distance between them suddenly hurt too, close or further apart it changed where it pitted itself, but Vianey dragged herself to her feet before offering the other girl a false smile and a drug her off of the ground with an outstretched hand, which she took gratefully before the pack- raised girl ushered her from the room as if she were simply obeying Luke's orders, and she might have convinced her Alpha too if he didn't know how she operated when she snatched the girl's Parabatai on the way out by the wrist, if it weren't for the way that her hands lingered, or the way she kept looking at the girl.

Shaking his head, Luke decided to get it all over with, and resigned himself to an undoubtedly long argument that would reign upstairs. He would discuss his household later with his wife.

_**XOX**_

"Clarissa, you're bleeding." The girl said at last, when the door had swung shut behind Simon. He had stayed as long as he'd been allowed, and they had sat around the room plucking at the dried out bread he had snatched from the dining room before they left, none having enough appetite to actually eat it.

Clary had sent Simon away as she had most nights to maintain the peace, though she supposed tonight would be more for the other girl's sake than for her fury. She needed time alone, to sort through her thoughts, but Vianey had refused to leave her be, becoming much like a ghost or a shadow, forever behind her, and now Clary understood why.

_**She'd been concerned.**_

Glancing over her shoulder where she knew the worry stemmed from, she cringed at how dark it had stained; the stiffness to it as her arms shifted slightly beneath the fabric was sharp and grating. Her tweed jacket was caked with blood, the dark and sickening color dripping down her sleeve and back from the shoulders a bit like tiny wings and the red- head's gaze quickly turned to glance behind her, though the fact had been well known by her. She was curious how much of her blood was enough for notice, however, especially with the slight panic that had darkened the girl's face.

"It's nothing," she tried to convince herself, to alleviate the upset in the older girl, though she doubted the next statement would spark confidence in her ability to care for herself or prioritize her well- being, "When I see Simon again I'll have him-"

"Let me see them." Her hands snatched, grabbing her wrist roughly when the younger girl seemed to be withdrawing, dragging her back into focus when her hand deliberately clasped the collar of the coat to her throat to keep it firmly on. It took a bit of coercion, a game of tug of war over the youthful Nephilim's coat shoulder, but eventually the girl could hold out no longer and bared the injury she had sustained in their fight earlier, her hand coming away from the lapel near her shoulder that she had been fisting against her collar to keep it shut.

The injury wasn't terrible, to the black- haired girl's relief, but it was obvious to Vianey the moment her hazel eyes laid upon the bare flesh that she hadn't yet iratzed it yet. Slightly smaller than the length of her hand, the longest break ran jagged and broken right beneath the edge of her shoulder's edge, blood crusting over the swell of her arm where it had seeped and dried against the fabric of her coat, red swelling along each of the edges of the four claw marks she had sustained when she had grabbed her heralding a forthcoming infection.

With her face close to the marks, her fingers traced along the edge of the warm heat it irradiated, measuring the cuts and the infection alike as Clary watched her through half raised lids. The Nephilim had bright eyes, bright enough that the thick, dark lashes did nothing to dull their illumination and Vianey did her best to avoid the question that laid right behind them, right on the tip of both of their tongues. What exactly _**were**_ they doing?

Her fingers tightened gently, sliding down her slender arms to rid her of the still clinging garment she had borrowed, and her pointer fingers hooked the collar before it had a chance to drop to the ground. It would probably have to be burned in the end, but for now it was nice to think that they had their own private angel, to pretend that they could keep her, much like the coat. Turning, she stepped a few feet off to drape the battered and stained fabric over the chair before she stole a look at the other being in the room.

Looking up at last, they made eye contact, a long lingering gaze that neither seemed willing to break first, and Vianey was frozen beside the small desk, Clary where she had left her beside the bed. The longer they stood there, the more unease settled over the green eyed Nephilim.

Why was she still there, still watching her? She had done nothing, yet she had insisted on seeing her arms. Why? It really wasn't anything to be concerned of after the scratches clotted. No, _**gouges,**_ that was what they were after all, miniscule little vault lines running along her shoulder blades which had spilled crimson like magma. Still, no reason for any worry of the werewolf- raised girl, who must have seen thousands of more serious injuries in her lifetime.

Shifting away, Clary swallowed; suddenly feeling much less like a predator than she could recall ever feeling and much more like prey, the backs of her thighs reached the ragged blanket draping the mattress and she felt like shrieking. Instead she bit at her lower lip, worrying it raw with her incisors before she came up with a solution, "I- I- I'm going to bed."

"Alright." She breathed, and Clary's flesh rose to hard bumps like a mild rash and she felt suddenly cold and exposed. The taller girl didn't move to leave, but Clary took the chance to scramble to the safety of the cot, dragging the thick blanket over her thin form as if it might become some sort of shield and protect her from the scalding gaze from across the room.

Vianey looked down at her with her head slightly tilted to the side so that her hair fell in a spiraling black mass with just a few strands touching her bare shoulder, and she glanced down at the ground for a mere moment and thrummed her thumbs over the chairs back as she pushed it in, before she sauntered towards the bed, tossing the bomber jacket she had been sporting over her ribbed tank carelessly away. Once there, she shimmied out of her pants with a sharp tug at the button, kicking them to the edge of the mattress where they fell with a semi wet sounding plop as she crawled in under the blankets beside the slighter girl.

"_**What **_are you doing?!" Clary found her voice, her reasoning cracking, and her fingers fisted the coverlet hard as she locked her arms over her chest to keep the threadbare blanket over her half bare breasts. She twisted away, and her back grazed against the cool stone wall, making her jump and lash out, startled.

The older girl caught her hand as it furled, tight at first but her grip loosened as a second hand joined it in a clasp after she had blocked the defending attack. The young girl had every reason to strike out, to be afraid, but not of Vianey. She did not desire her blind fear, but her understanding. She needed it as much as she needed air, and as the girl's fingers loosened one by one, the way she held it changed too, reminding her of childhood mornings clasping a rosary in prayer for something like Clary to be delivered to her. With a gentleness that shocked the smaller girl, Vianey brought each knuckle to her lips where she pressed a soft, lingering kiss as she held her hand like it was the most precious thing to her.

"Wolves... We fix things by touch. Hurts, old and new, they have to be seen to, or else they fester and decay." Her voice was soft and nurturing and Clary couldn't help but feel a bit eased by her, "I'm fixing this, us. I have to, because it is my fault_**. Dmir tiegħi."**_

The hands left their clasping hold on hers, sliding up along her arms before gently pressing her towards the stuffy mattress with a sense of urgency so strong that the shadow- hunter girl obeyed the strain against her ribs and laid down on her belly, her face turned towards her bed mate. Her green eyes sought hazel ones behind her as the elder girl settled beside her, and curiosity sparked at the way she looked over her back with a sense of mixed responsibility and honorable respect, like Clary had earned some recognition.

"You say that a lot, _**tiegħi." **_She found her voice at last and she blinked up at the lax face above her as the girl crawled over her, flesh on heated flesh enough to make her sigh, "What does it mean?"

"Responsibility…" came her voice softly, a deep rumbling above her that made the Nephilim cringe as she was pinned down against her nature. Vianey read it as discomfort, with her touch, or her weight, or perhaps a mixture of the two. She rose up in response, halving the pressure on her back as her gaze lowered back to the jagged marks she had left on her. "If you don't like it, you can kick me out later once you are seen to."

Deft fingers ran along a scar along her back along the path her bra line might have been, tracing out the rune that had once been carved there and had long since faded. Curiosity made her wonder if these wounds that ran along her shoulders would scar the same way or if they would forever defile her, marks bestowed on her by a lesser creature, dark and ugly. She hoped not. It should grace her beautiful flesh as well as the aged runes did, pale and invisible unless being worshiped for strength- flawless and every bit a part of her.

Soft, ghost touches of her lips brushed them first, and the warm gushes of air bursting along her back raised all of her flesh to goose- pimples as she jumped in surprise. Vianey pressed kiss after kiss along the line in her back, her hands tracing out scars and wounds, and after a few moments of idle touching, she rose up on her elbows and stroked her nails over the wound she had gifted the Nephilim with in a mock action that had brought them to her skin, "This is your trophy, your reward for besting me and proving yourself my better."

"I'm not any better-"

"You are, Clarissa. And I want to know every scar, every imperfection; the story of how you received them, for every mark upon your vessel has been a mark upon your very soul, and ever crack has what has made you better than me, stronger."

Groaning, the girl pressed her face into her pillow as a tongue darted out, tracing along the claw marks now with a gentleness that washed away the blood with a sanitary level the girl was minutely concerned with. If it had been as bad as she made it out to be, she doubted that this would be the way Vianey would have chosen to care for her, but the Shadow hunter allowed it, "Where would you have me start? You can't honestly think I'd remember where I got every scratch, let alone every expired rune-"

"Try…" the breath warmed her to the core, making her skin tingle as the tongue increased its pressure and her teeth skimmed along after it. She focused on that, more than the history of the marks across her flesh, and found herself arching against each caress. She was warm, so very warm, and leaning back into the other girl's embrace, she could have sighed in contentment from her warmth alone as her significantly substantial chest rose to meet her, curving along all of the sharp lines in her back.

Her hypnotic breath breezed over her shoulder blade and disturbed her hair lightly, washing her in the sweet aroma of warm chocolate and cinnamon. It clung to her with every kiss, every touch, until she was swimming in it, consumed by it, and her eyes drifted closed, allowing herself to drown in it, sinking beneath the dark waves as the voluptuous woman showed her the way down into a warm sea of ecstasy.

_**XOX**_

Rising early in the wee hours of what she now considered morning, Clary laid awake in bed, the weight of a hand heavy against her back as she stared at the wall a few inches from her face and considered her situation for the first time in days. Somehow she had gotten over this whole kidnapping situation and come to terms with it, settled into a role of life here, and she was unsure how she felt about it.

Somehow they had convinced her to stay without anyone actually just asking her, and that bothered her.

Sitting up, Vianey gave a grumble of upset, her arm tightening against her hip as if the feeble grasp she held her with might actually hold her in bed if Clary wanted to go. Awake, she would have a genuine chance at restraining her, but not asleep.

Dozing, she looked delicately beautiful, with her long lashes, full lips and smooth nose that drew out her heart- shaped face. This close, she could see the light freckles that dusted her high cheekbones too, more than Clary had even, but pale, so light because she had seen considerably less sunlight. Perhaps any other morning, she would be inspired to draw her, to immortalize the radiant and exotic beauty of the fullness of her face, to remember the way her thick lips parted in a sigh or the way she curled in against Clary's side like a child around a stuffed bear, but not today. She decided that now was when she must make her decision on where she would remain, and she needed her time alone to do so or else she might be persuaded to stay.

There were good people here, perhaps as many good people as she had been convinced there had been bad, and even those that she couldn't bring herself to look at were justified at least in every wicked deed they had committed, just as she could not condemn her own people for every misdeed they had committed.

She couldn't damn either to whatever fate awaited, despite how she had been raised.

There was good in this world, her family had taught her, and there was evil. There was no grey, only black and white, but somehow now as she looked around, she could only see charcoal and silver, a muddling like a hastily drawn chalk drawing. Who then deserved her allegiance? On one side, her father, who had stood at her side, distant and firm, but constant in his obscene gestures of affection, where she had thought all her life there was only goodness and peace and love and family, and on the other, her mother who, despite every flaw and betrayal, had reached out and tried to repair what was the darkest corruption on her soul, who had traded a life of comfort for one of pain, and for what? A man? Luke might have been nothing as a Shadow hunter, but he was the supreme leader here, much like her father. On even footing, an equal match. Why had her mother left then? Jocelyn had claimed regret, and though Clary hadn't seen it then, so blinded by the betrayal, she could see the clarity of it now.

There had to be reason. There had to be cause. People didn't do things just out of the goodness of their hearts; she understood that now in a way she couldn't have before. Even her budding friendship with Vianey seemed to off somehow to her now, though she hadn't really given any reason not to trust her entirely.

Sitting up, her hand raked through her thick red hair as her eyes traveled to the girl in question. The saint still remained slumbering, no matter how hard she tried to make a devil out of her, and Clary came to terms with the fact that her answers were not going to be solved lying beside the werewolf- raised human. She would have to go elsewhere, to scrounge up the answers to her questions.

With wide motions, the slight girl crawled over the wide- hipped girl and off of the cot as quietly as possible and tiptoed to the chair where her devastated coat laid in ruin, and she shrugged into it and slipped on her boots near the door with a few hops and with one last look at the sleeping maiden, bolted down the hallway, praying not to run into anyone that might try to stop her.

_**XOX**_

The drapery shifted, and her mother came into view, smudges of color smeared across her cheek and nose and her hair ruffled out of the long braid that wove itself over her shoulder. She looked exhausted, and upon seeing her eldest daughter at the doorway, raised her hand to pinch the bridge of her nose and Clary saw with certainty that she must have been using pastels as the pale dyes dusted all over her hand in splotches and streaks in a way she knew so well spread over her face as she wiped at it.

"Clary… have you _**any**_ idea what time it is?"

"Actually I don't." snarkily, Clary folded her arms over her chest as her eyes glanced over the room, and after a few moments, into her mother's bedroom, half expecting to be thrown out, "Your interior designers really tried to escape the concept of orderly schedules and I still haven't figured out what day or night is or if it's up or down."

The flat face that responded to her said easily enough how not funny her mother had found that, and instead of apologizing for something she wasn't sorry for, she pushed the conversation in a different direction, the one she wanted it to go down anyway.

"What was Luke to you?"

"Clary I don't think that's any of your-"

"It is, actually." Her voice was sharp as a blade and she turned her eyes to look at her mother with an ounce of measurement and the elder woman realized that she could feel the weight of expectation again, and realized that it was the first time she and her daughter had met gazes since breakfast. "You said that you were sorry, that you wanted forgiveness, to fix whatever it was you left shattered in me when you took off but not once have you told me that you want me to stay, that you want your family back."

"I told you that I loved you, Clary. If you were a mother that would have been-"

"It wasn't. How could it have been, when I haven't even had a mother to know it was enough?!" her voice reached a pitch that had Jocelyn's eyes wide, and she quickly turned back to the room she had come from and then turned a fairly sharp look on Valentine's daughter, her hand raising as if to lower something.

"_**Adele is sleeping."**_

Again, it was for another child. Her heart thrummed hard against her breast, into her throat, as if it might catch flight and escape to somewhere safe and far away from here where nothing would hurt it again.

"I want answers. All of them, from beginning to end, I want to know everything there is you have to tell me. It's the least you can do after you _**destroyed **_our family.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Jocelyn took survey of whoever was in her bed, though from the mound Clary could only guess it would have to be Luke, and Adele's tiny foot was hanging off of the bed, her crazy toddler hair everywhere. She seemed to be contemplating so much- what might be asked of her, the cost, of what she should reveal- that no ounce of serenity ever crossed her face.

At long last, her voice was heard again, gentler than before, "What do you want to know, Clary? What could I possibly tell you that would ever get you to listen to me, to believe me?"

"I've already told you what I need to hear."

Exasperated, the woman ran her hand through her hair, something so hauntingly familiar that she recognized it as one of Jonathan's gestures, that gaunt long fingers that seemed to twist as they tangled through the locks almost as unruly as the strands themselves. "He was my first love. I loved him from the first time I laid eyes on him and every day after. If not for Luke, your father and I would have never been."

"And what am I to you?"

"A manifestation of so many mistakes" There was a brokenness to her tone that made Clary believe she was telling the truth and not her version of it. It hurt, but she knew it was the truth before she said it. "I don't regret your birth, nor the love you are due. You are not my mistake, Clary, but the form that it has taken. I loved you, as I had loved Jonathan, before I ever knew you, and your father destroyed that. I was only meant to love him, I suppose, not the monsters he created. You are _**his **_mistake. If I were not to love anyone else but him, he should never have given me hope for a child. I can't tell you that I want you to stay, that I need you here more than he needs you, because it would be a lie."

Something settled on Clary's face, it must have, and in a moment, her mother had her about the wrist and was dragging her against her breast, clutching her along her neck behind the ear, her fingers thrumming her hairline as her lips pressed against her forehead. "I don't want you to stay here, Clary, but I want you to leave even less. You're no less my baby than the day I birthed you. You'll have to forgive me if I don't wish the worst for you."

"I- I'm a monster?" her brain kept triggering the word and every time her heart seemed to clench. It was a malicious association, something far from what she had ever considered herself that she couldn't leave it be unmentioned.

After a few moments of silence, the woman drew away; her long fingers brushing along her lash line, tears congealed along the pad, before she nodded down the hall, and led the girl away wide- eyed to somewhere seclude.

_**XOX**_

Dazed, the girl drew away from the warm fire, her eyes watching the flames leap about in the low hearth ring where her mother had guided her silently so they could speak easily. Neither believed that the shouting was over, and Clary had a lot of questions that needed to be answered.

_**Enough**_ had been spoken of to appease her, however. She had come to terms with why, at least, the real thing haunting her enough to remain, and had learned more than enough to make her want to run. She wasn't needed here, as she wasn't needed in Alicante. She was simply just being withheld from the other parent.

Was this how Alec and Isabelle felt? She couldn't remember a single time she had seen Robert Lightwood with his children. It was a terrible feeling, being caught up in the middle; she would have to discuss it with them later, now that yet another life experience had been commensurable between them.

She at least knew what she had to do now. Darkness loomed over them, and regardless of where she would go after, the Shadow hunters in Idris needed to know that something unnamed and wicked was coming, and soon it would be in their back yard. Something so monumental really should not have been overlooked, not ever.

Silently, her hand ran along her left rib bones, to the bottom of the cage where what she had always assumed was a birthmark scarred her pale flesh as she pushed off of the ground. The mark that curled in the tucking of her abdomen seemed to respond in a way she never would have considered, warmer somehow against her palm.

"Clary!" Jocelyn called, and the girl turned around again in the doorway, "I love you. Be careful."

No answer came, but then none was really needed. Both idled for a moment longer, before taking their leave, one towards seizing their future, and the other where they always belonged.

_**XOX**_

"Come on Simon." Her hand shook the boy softly.

"We're going. Come on, put your pants on, Si." The boy rose, tousle haired and bleary eyed, and his hand reached instinctively to the side table where he usually set his glasses while the other swiped at them where they hung halfway on his nose where they had fallen when he had slept. Dazed, he reached up with both hands to right the frames, as his Parabatai rushed around the room looking for his discarded garments for him. Looking down, the boy noticed that his pants had already been discovered and had been tossed haphazardly on the bedspread near his knees and while he picked them up and started pulling them on, a shirt smacked him in the head right over his ear.

"What's going on?" he murmured, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he stumbled about tugging the jeans on as he watched her out of the corner of his eye, fumbling through the wardrobe for what he could only assume was the remaining articles of attire he was missing. "Why the rush?"

"Luke gave me his blessing to leave yesterday. We need to get out before someone reneges on this open door policy, before-" She whispered just loud enough for him to hear her if he strained hard enough, and her volume dropped so low then he couldn't understand her anymore, so quiet that he had no doubt her heartbeat might pound more audibly.

"Before _**you**_ don't want to go anymore?" he guessed from the few bits and pieces he had caught, and her face whipped around with a bit of surprise pulling her features wide as he considered her quietly as he drew on a pair of socks and his old weathered boots. Why wouldn't he be able to guess? He was the other half of her soul, and he ought to know her better than anyone, felt her better than anyone else could sense, and on an atomic level he seemed to conceive and understand her, before she even had convinced herself of anything, Simon would know what it was she would chose. "Clary… If you don't know yet, we don't have to leave. You have time, all the time you might need to decide exactly what you want, even if it's not right, not what you were raised to want. It's okay if you want to stay here longer. Your mother-"

"This isn't about my mother," she interjected sharply, "Not entirely. You told me that Camille Belcourt was afraid, and you sincerely believed in her concern, in her fear. I can feel it Simon, it's all around me, and it's not just you or the unease we brought everyone coming here. They' re preparing for something, something big and whatever is big enough to scare over a hundred werewolves and a coven of Vampires from the Bone Citadel, is something that the Nephilim need to be warned about, and were the only ones who know. It's our responsibility to go alert the others, isn't it? Doesn't our race come over my comfort?"

Somehow, Simon couldn't bring himself to answer. Rather, all he did was zip up his blazer and followed her out.

_**XOX**_

_**Real Quick Author's Note:**_

_**Sorry this one took so long. Did not expect that to happen, but bright side is the next 2 are outlined and maybe the 2**__**nd**__** part of this is almost completed. There will be at least 3 parts.**_

_**Title is taken for this Chapter series from Bless the fall's "40 Days"**_

"_**Can we make this a lifetime, you're all I want right now  
Life keeps telling me I need to go  
But what if I wanna stay  
Cause I'm lost here without you**_

**_And I need you now, cause it's killing me_**  
**_And I wish somehow, you were here with me_**  
**_When I fall asleep I feel you with me_**  
**_Till I fall asleep and you are with me"_**

_**Enjoyed it? I would really like more reviews, even if it's just to let me know if you enjoy where this is going. I've been feeling like the review board has become a ghost town.  
**_

_**Review, Recommend, Fave, or Follow**_

_**Share the Love**_

_**~TAORI~**_


	15. But What If I Want To Stay

_**XOX**_

_I do not_ _**sleep to dream**__. I do not __**live to sleep**__. But I__** do**__ live so that I __**may dream**__, and that is all this __**ever**__ could have been_. Rolling in her sleep, Vianey felt the emptiness beside her long before her eyes opened to the vacant spot, felt the cold seeping into her bones like an iced over wet quilt wrapped around her in the dead of winter before the it even occurred to her that she was spooning the abandoned pillow. Her eyes drifted open as her hand swept where the slighter girl had lain, the void shaking her to her bones as she sat up, her golden rimmed eyes raking all over the room even though she knew in her heart that Clary was far from this place.

The room was indeed empty, and gone were her threadbare clothes that had been tossed along the floor. Why had she ever assumed that the impossible would happen? No one ever stayed if they didn't have to, especially not for this life, and Clary had remained much longer than she should have, longer than anyone had expected her to. After all, what could Vianey say to her, what could she have offered Clary to convince her to stay for such a difficult life, albeit one bursting full of heartfelt love and companionship that no other culture expressed more than that of the Lycans, particularly those in Luke Garroway's pack? No one would have loved her more than they would have, than she did now, not even her precious father with his destructive forces. But that was the point, wasn't it? Despite all of their efforts, Clary still did not belong to her, did not feel the camaraderie that would make her betray her own kind and stay. She was not Jocelyn Morgenstern. No, she would leave this place one day; she would flee farther than the reaches of the werewolves so that she could join her brethren in cutting them down.

It hurt to sit up, but she forced herself to move away from this room. She had no right being here anymore, not with Clary gone, and she had to find her before she blew whatever she might be able salvage between them by running her mouth to the wrong person. What had come over her last night? She had no doubt scared the poor girl witless. Vianey wouldn't blame her if she did run off and cry to Luke or one of the other Alphas as it would be her right, but if not there was going to have to be a long conversation between them soon, one Vianey didn't desire to broach yet. Clary had been injured, by her hands, and while the act had her mortified, she had done what was required of her by her own honorably moral code; she had taken action to remedy, to cure, to heal. She did not have the iratzes of the Shadow Hunters, but she had knowledge of herbs and healing hands, and no one else would be allowed to fix what she had done to the delicate warrior.

Sometimes it was hard to accept that she was not a werewolf. She had lived with them so long, that some of the qualities and quirks that made them what they were had become her habit; she hadn't realized how wolfish she had become until Clary gave her a model of normality. That must have been what overcame her last night, the instincts she had come to emulate despite her clean blood.

_**Instinct and blood-**_ that was what life consisted of for werewolves, both of which had almost lost the Lena brothers' lives more times than she would have liked this past month, and her brother Asa, _**damn him**_, had racked up more points on his life than she thought she could forgive. The middle brother had her stomach all in knots since that little fiasco when he came onto her Nephilim girl only for her Parabatai to send him crashing back to ground level, but now Asa was the only one she could think of besides Luke to go to, the only one to understand the heartache and tell her how to mend things, but somehow the lines she had crossed last night with his first choice in courting did not seem like something she should confide in him, nor something she could go and tell Luke either. She had crossed a vast gorge of a line with the beautifully delicate girl, and her forgiveness would be key before either could know what happened.

This had to be righted. Her feet took her faster than here mind recognized, automatically dragging her along the hollow tunnels aimlessly. She had nowhere to start off her search, so everywhere was her destination.

The sounds of voices drew her closer, leading her down one of the tunnels that led towards the meadow deep in Brocelind Forest. From the forked diversion of the pathways, the curvaceous girl could see the lingering forms of five of their visitors, their forms comfortable as they leaned together and spoke freely in barely hushed murmurs. Veronique and Kito were spotted easily enough among them, the ivory paleness stark against the black man as she leaned backwards into her lover, her long golden hair falling along her shoulder in a cascading wave that gave a splash of color to her white- out flesh. All the color had been sapped from her but the blood- shot red that marked her eyes, so dark from the endless tears she had shed. If she had been her pack mate, Vianey would have drew her close, hugged her tight, but she was not and doing so might be construed as an attack by her Alpha Kito, or by his_ soon- to- be_ son- in- law, Gabriel, who had taken an interest in appeasing the poor women's sorrow, his sun kissed arm hooked loosely around Amabel's fragile shoulders as she looked on as blankly as her mother, side by side the palest of mourners the human girl had ever seen. Where Greta had gone, they had no idea, and bless them; they were trying to put up the front that everything would be all right for their pack. With her elder sister gone, Amabel would undoubtedly go home with Gabriel regardless of her feelings on the matter so that the power play for Kito's pack that was looming on the horizon was nullified with her reluctant agreement to take her sister's place as his wife.

Following close to the wall so that she could pass the small gathering unnoticed, Vianey ducked closer, her head low as it ought to be if any of the group were to notice her. She didn't really expect to hear anything of useful importance, not by the way they stood about, rather she expected to hear wedding preparations or funeral arrangements for if and when the body may surface, but their voices were so clear that she couldn't help but listen on despite her attempt to appear oblivious.

"The Nephilim are gone." Kito's voice murmured softly, the vacantness to his tone almost cold as his mate swayed in front of him, full of silenced agony.

"Good riddance. It was an ill- fated idea from the start. One can only hope they _**freeze **_out in the wild on their way home before they get the chance to tell more of them where we are. It's the best we can hope for now."

Vianey had caught on to the conversation from almost a hundred feet away. They were deep in it, and unlikely unaware of their volume, let alone anyone else in the hallway, but she had heard them clear enough as if it had been said directly to her. Turning, she diverted her path back down the dead end tunnel, right to the two Alpha's gossiping.

"I'm sorry, what did you say" the girl seemingly appeared out of nowhere, and her bright eyes blazed brilliantly as she cocked her head to the side. All three of them knew she had heard exactly what was said probably the moment she had showed up but was giving the elder female a chance to retract her words.

"Miss Lena, I-"

"No. What about the Nephilim?" She was already on the younger male, over shadowing him in the hall as she stepped up threateningly on him that he craned backwards, dropping his arm away from Amabel so he could get as much distance as he could from the youngest Lena. The girl was a threat all on her own, werewolf or not, and he didn't want to be the one to figure out which she was for certain. It would be a mark for his head, and he was very fond of living.

It wasn't enough; Vianey chased him up to the wall, a snarl at the back of her throat as she glared on even footing with the man. She would have taken on Kito, had he been the one to have spoken ill of her Clary, and she snatched him at the collar and dragged his sorry ass off his feet. She saw it in his eyes, the fear unbecoming of an Alpha, of a man at all, as she raised him up and he shied away from her, readying for her to strike him down; she cracked him back against the wall, hard.

"They've gone," came the soft voice of Amabel's mother behind her, and when the human girl looked to her, her dark eyes refused to rise to look at her face, "Vianey, please let my daughter's fiancé down, he's stupid but that is no crime. Let him be, I'll take you after your shadow hunters."

Stiffly, she dropped the chocolate- haired man, but as she turned to give thanks to the beta, Gabriel seized back up once her back was fully turned. She felt him move and as he came upon her, her elbow struck back into his gut as she turned and knocked him in the jugular to momentarily stun him. He choked, gasping for air she refused him long enough that she drew out a blade and pressed it over his left clavicle, poised at his heart.

"If it's not a crime yet, Veronique," she whispered over her shoulder, as she indicated her point quite plainly, her dagger drawing the slightest of blood as she withheld, "I _**highly**_ suggest you consider making it one."

_**XOX**_

Clary had been nothing but determined once they broke the surface of the underground tunnels only to find themselves in a vast wasteland of ice. Drifts of snow ranged along the ground, deceptive in some spots to be sure, as a step in what Simon had assumed would be slight ascent from a passing glance came swiftly to his knee as he lurched downward. Clary groped behind him for his shoulders, sliding after him down the hill when her hand finally caught his coat right below the shoulder blade, gasping as the snow drift took her deeper down the slope.

Despite the frigid temperatures, she had persevered once she had gained her footing, clinging to her Parabatai's broad shoulder as she stumbled along with her other hand aimed before her as if she expected any step to send her down the mountain side. Simon kept a vigil watch on her as they made their decent, every sharp jerk as she stepped too far out of her comfort making his entire body tense as he prepared to chase her down the slope, to take the hit before she might but it never came. Despite never having been exposed to this much snow, she had marvelous balance.

"Where are we?" he finally asked after they had found themselves a smoother pathway, a gentle slope that didn't sporadically drop out from beneath their feet unexpectedly. The red head seemed to be thinking something similar, and after the words escaped his lips, she shook her head in answer as she turned to look about them, her wide eyes trying to take in everything they could, which was admittedly not much.

"Well where do we go, then?" Simon called as she pulled away from him, a curious expression scrunching her face up as if she had caught on to something, and her head whipped about, sending her scarlet hair wildly about her.

"I smell something." She whispered in warning, her delicate nose scrunching up as she looked around harder, searching for the source as she continued shuffling forward, slower now as if she would otherwise fall to the hands of something very wicked indeed otherwise.

"Something clean perhaps?" Simon found himself following her lead, his dark eyes squinting to see further in the white out conditions as the white mist rose up on the wind, "Pine? Snow? We are surrounded by both, Clary."

Her head shook a decline again, and despite what her gut was telling her to do, to turn back towards the cave mouth and go back inside and try another path or go the other way over the top, she stepped in the direction the pungent smell was coming from, ready to investigate as they made their way in the only sign they had of life out here other than the pack in the tunnels beneath them.

"It doesn't belong. Not here at least." Her hand came up to cover her eyes from the sun, hoping beyond reason to catch sight of whatever it was. The scent warmed her with familiarity, though she could not place it precisely. "Smells earthy… sulfur, perhaps? It's burning my nose like smoke but it doesn't smell exactly right for wood burning..."

"Where there's smoke, there's fire," the Morgenstern girl could hear the smile in his tone, so blissfully pleasant that she couldn't keep herself from smiling in turn. "I suppose it's the only hint we have out of here to go on though. You plan on tracking it to the source, or just out of this hell hole?"

_**XOX**_

Vianey chased after Clary, stumbling in her haste behind the elder werewolf leading her along an invisible path. She never considered before Clary that any Nephilim could be an ally but the girl had come closer to a friend than the human girl ever had. Asa had been the first to suggest that they keep her on a permanent basis, on terms other than that of Luke's step daughter, having been the first to broach the subject with the Shadow hunter; it had been in his right to pursue her until Clary herself declined him, but she highly doubted then that Clary would stay long enough to give him a chance. She'd been itching too much to get away since she came here, and the hazel eyed girl didn't blame her in the slightest. Vianey wouldn't like it if she woke up suddenly kidnapped by her estranged mother if she had one either.

Rumors ran around the pack that he had been violently shot down by the girl when the proposal of courting came up. She said she was just not interested, that he wasn't her type, but Asa was every girl's type, or at least he ought to be. He was sweet, and strong, kind and protective. When he gave his heart it was in its entirety for all time. It was a lie that left too many doors open for other Lycans to come sniffing around her.

She hadn't had a chance to really let her heart present itself, to beg the girl to stay, but she would. She would see that she got her chance, regardless of her brother's failed attempt. But for now, she had to do something, anything to keep her. This was her Clary, not just any scum Nephilim, and if she had to she would alliance herself with Kito and his pack too to get a lead on where she had run off.

Veronique led her at a fairly slow pace, her hands grazing the walls as the floor refused to light her way the way it did Vianey. She didn't know her way, obviously, but she didn't fault her in it. The pretty woman was simply visiting their pack in the blessed lands, where blood spilled daily but theirs was always a victorious one. Vianey was honestly surprised that her memory was this good, that she could walk her back the way she had come, the way she had seen them go out, and the longer she followed her, she saw that the woman was leaving trace marks so she could get back once Vianey abandoned her in relative darkness.

"Do you think we did the right thing, Miss Lena? Angering_** Her **_this way, I mean." The silence broke between them by the nervousness in Veronique's voice, and her flaxen hair shook about like she was looking along the ceiling. "I know you follow Luke's lead, and I don't aim to sway you, but you must see his error, know we cannot take a stand against Her. He would have you against her, her endless wrath on all of our doorsteps to save a few mundane lives-"

"I don't think it much matters," the dark haired girl answered sharply in turn, just as the woman's voice took on a hysterical sharpness to it and she realized they had neared the highest elevation of the cave systems, one that led to an escape tunnel in the edge of the Mountains.

"I've never met her," _**thanks to Luke mind you**_, she found the thought rising to the surface, protecting her Alpha with a swell of pride that she might follow such a man that had successively protected her against anything in their lifestyle for this long, "but it seems to me that she's had it out for our kind all along."

"Werewolf or human, you mean, Miss Lena?"

"_**Anyone alive**_. I don't think she cares for anyone that can oppose her. At least that's how it sounds. If I ever stand before her, I will ask her what makes our race any different from the Vampires that she pampers, from the Faeries who skirt by year after year with the minimum of losses, so I will know for certain what it is that she wants from us, or if the Werewolves are truly damned by her."

"You do not fear Her?" She stopped, wide green eyes pinning her with the panic she had held the moment she had seen the severed head dangling from the vampire's hand, the manifestation exploding in a way it hadn't before. "You would speak so freely, so open of disrespect to her, so close to her shrine?"

"No, I'm not terrified of her. I don't think she is as all powerful as you seem to believe; there is darker evil out there, I have seen it, lurking behind the eyes of so many. Sinners, all of them. There is a darker evil in this world, one that all should truly fear, and I shudder at that evil, but not for her. I would fall in fear of morning star, to Lucifer, for he is the source of all wickedness, not this fallen deity, this _**disgraced**_ angel."

"She is still the evening star, Vianey. If you believe in the devil, believe in her too. Believe that if she is not the evilest thing to live that she is the darkest thing to walk freely amongst us. Know that fear, Vianey, for she can reach you in ways _**he**_ cannot." She froze against the wall, turning so her back pressed into the sharp rocks along the tunnel, "I shall go no farther into this country, to this forsaken land. I am wise enough to fear what is before me, what can touch me. For what it's worth, I will tell Luke where you have run off to, that he might send his strongest after you. It's a privilege he denied me, but one you are deserving of. You are too young, too blind to the world to know wickedness; you are too weak to protect yourself in the way that my Greta was not. If you can, return to us, but you must leave the stars behind you. Our people are already too distraught by actual problems your beloved Alpha has brought down on our heads to be concerned with adolescent villains."

_**XOX**_

Simon tilted his head, crouching low to the ground where foot prints bore themselves deep in the snow and diverted in three directions going forth but had come from no direction. It was like the owners feet had been plopped in this wintery waste land and they had gone on with their business, three times.

And perhaps _**bore**_ was not the proper word. _**Scorched away**_ was probably closer to what he imagined, as the three paths were melted to the tundra below, the earth burned like lava had scorned it away. It smelled, too, as Clary had described it, much like sulfur and flames and it made Simon look around in half worry. What if something, someone was playing with them? The tracks were odd to say the least, but it was enough to draw attention to distract one of them while they were ambushed. Standing back up, the boy glanced to his Parabatai, slowly making her way towards the safer slope down, her tiny legs barely long enough to attempt the way he had diverted, but he would try to draw her over all the same, just in case there was something nefarious going on so he could have a chance to protect her.

"That's rather peculiar… Clary, you have got to take a look at this!" The pale skinned girl sighed, resigning to follow her Parabatai down the steep, craggy landing he had directed himself down to see what it was he had found. He normally would just tell her what it was he thought he had found, and his insistence that she see it with her own eyes and the excitement that had seized his voice had her intrigued.

What had he stumbled upon to make him so excited? Headed down after him, she drove her arm deep into the snow for purchase as she began to make her way down to the landing about 50 feet down.

She didn't make it to Simon. Her hand had caught what she assumed to be a shoot of grass or a bramble bush long dormant for the bitter cold, but secure in its location, but as she twisted to take a large step down which would have been a fall in the end, as he had had to drop down a few inches himself, the vegetation gave way, and the barely there ledge crumbled as she hit it.

She screamed, half soundlessly, half drowned out, as she shot down hard into a sloped ridge along the mountain. Another voice rose up, startling Simon as he threw himself towards where the girl had disappeared, desperate to see her safe, and a dark flash fell after her before he could jump down the crevice.

_**XOX**_

"CLARY!" the sharp cry cut through her as she impacted with the snow entirely. The new voice had her pale partner startled, and he was running back up the hillside so he could go down the off shoot the girls had tumbled down, but the dark haired girl was faster, having dropped down the hill rather than caring that she might break something on the way down.

She had come down the hill with rope around her arm, an old climbing trick they were all shown when they were old enough to leave the pack, as many of the pups weren't much smaller than Clary when they first wandered out, and the tie to the mouth cave aided their return home. As she tossed herself over, she had half forgotten about it, and the ragged twining caught at her flesh as it ripped from her hands. It slowed her enough that she didn't crash headfirst into the tundra, and for that Vianey was grateful

Vianey had thrown herself over the outcropping, bare flesh skidding painfully against ice and snow after the binding had freed itself and her fall accelerated until she was right beside the Nephilim girl without its hindrance. Grabbing onto the wiry girl, the Mediterranean girl hit the ground hard, sending a rush of snow into the air as they spiraled in it down the hill. Clary grabbed at the elder girl's shoulders blindly as she screamed, helpless as puffs of snow shot up into the air with every hit, and they slowed eventually as their tumble brought them deeper and deeper into the snow trench and Vianey thrust her arm out, launching them away from the next hit as the younger girl cried out, ready for each hit to strike her hard as the first had if not worse.

By time they had idled all the way, Vianey beneath her, Clary had begun to sob hysterically, her hands fisted in the human girl's back as her face bore down into her bare clavicle, mere seconds after her face had shown recognition to who had grabbed her.

She was so grateful for the human girl, so distraught, that it went beyond her notice that the necklace beside her cheek began to glow with an ethereal iridescence, like crystalline snow trapped within the strange cross had begun melting away from within. Vianey sighed, her head falling back as her hands came up to cradle the red- head's shaking shoulders.

A blade struck after her, aimed deliberately for her head as it fell back to expose itself, but the older girl was too fast, too battle smart, and she used her superior leg strength to roll her and Clary over and scrambled up off the ground so that the slighter girl became a shield, caught in the strong cage of the girl's thighs with her arm barred over her chest.

_**XOX**_

Neither Nephilim nor mundane noticed the fiery gazes watching them from the three peaks of the roving hills, pitch at the feet of the three women as the knelt against the earth, observing the gathering in the ravine bellow. Sound traveled wordlessly between them, the collective mind hearing everything and nothing at all. **"His daughter, you say? Are you quite-"**

"_Sure? Of course I am. When have I gotten anything-"_

**"Wrong? More times than you were right, I assure you, Sister." **Tentatively, the naked woman knelt down, long and unkempt hair sliding before her as she crooned, crawling over the deep snow as it melted at her touch. She got closer still, and leaned over the hill top as if she might get a better look at those below**, "Is she **_really_** your daughter, O' Great-"**

"Do not speak his name!" came the sharp cry of the third, and the other two twisted as if in pain, shrinking down as they bowed their head to the one that led them, the only of the three with clothing, though it covered very little, "This is not about her…"

The other two fell silent, waiting on baited breath to hear the third's decree. Nothing came forth, but they could hear the smile across her thick lips, her tongue hungrily darting out to savor the pain in the air, and her eyes fluttered shut. It was enough that the other two responded to her,

"_**This is about **_Us_**, and **_Our _**Mandate, and **_Our_** Father. For what are we, but God's Forsaken few?"**_

"Damned, I'm _**sure.**_" The woman smiled, before turning away with an air of finality, and with her back to the children below, she sauntered off with a soft laugh. The two separated from her blazed and crumbled away in the distance, falling to blacken the pale earth as their master disappeared from sight.

_**XOX**_

"I'm not leaving until the both of you agree to come back with me. It's not safe out here for the two of you."

"Says the only other person out in this wasteland other than us, _**and oh, look**_, you've got your hands at Clary's throat!"

Twisting, Clary's weight bore down on her arm, her soft eyes darting to look to her hand where there was indeed her hand, but it was away from her and in no way poised to take her life at the moment. The soft flesh drew away minutely, enough for Clary to see the long scrapes that ran along the outside of her arm where she had struck the ground repeatedly, the bruises along the sharp point of her elbow that had caught every hit. She slid away completely, ducking out of the other girl's arms entirely, and she made a mad dash to grab at her while Clary raised her hand to keep the distance she had bought herself. "_**Vianey!**_ While what you're doing is very honorable, you have to let me go! My mother understood, surely your brother-"

"It's not just about Asa, Clary!" The girl looked away and her hands came up to dishevel the Avant Gard cut of hair in agitation as she rolled off the tips of her toes, falling away into the snow. She had pictured this conversation going much differently, so much so that it mortified her that it would come out this way. Her voice would betray her, and suddenly she prayed that she was melting the top of a hidden cavern bellow so it might swallow her whole and save her the embarrassment to come. She hesitated, near crying as she realized there was only way out and keep her, and there was weakness when she finally managed to croak out what had caught in her throat, "_I need you to stay too."_

Clary was stunned silent. Vianey needed her to stay. It was almost what she wanted, almost enough for her to throw herself at the girl and beg her to bring her back. No one had ever told her that they needed her other than Jonathan, and her brother needed her like no one ever needed anyone before.

Simon on the other hand needed much more convincing. He had always been the pretty red head's protector, her valiant knight and he alone always saw the wickedness in people that Clary struggled to wrap her head around. But something held him back for now as the niggling feeling that something was out there, watching wormed its way back under his skin. It wasn't Vianey that had left those marks in the snow, but her arrival had drawn unneeded attention to their location. He tried not to look suspicious as his eyes glanced towards the edge of his line of vision, but nothing was there.

He knew someone was there, however, hiding perhaps, but observing all the same. Vianey had startled them perhaps, saw her as another hunter in the plains, but the threat remained looking and with so many hills and slopes, it was difficult to defend them from all sides. Simon knew he had few choices this far from civilization, and his greatest was to lay faith in the enemy that he knew than the one he didn't. With his gaze to the distant peaks, he stepped back towards the two girls as his Parabatai fell forward into the snow purposefully, crawling towards the girl that had chased them out. _**What **_was that on the mountain? The figure was pale, so much so that it was hard to distinguish at first, until a breeze wisped up a dark flame on the horizon, illuminated by the sunrise beyond the mountain range, perhaps.

Drawing herself up, the tiny girl half stumbled back to the mound that the human girl had sunk into, leaning over her so that her long red hair fell over her face like a fountain spilling from her head as her tiny arms held her suspended over the larger girl, "You could have said so earlier, you know. I would have come back, if nothing else to visit."

"And you should have at least told me you were leaving. After last night, I-"

"_**There's someone up there." **_Both girls looked about themselves at the sound of the male's tone, the grating tone worrying, and their attention diverted towards the cliff where Simon's sight was focused intently. He wasn't blinking either. Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it appeared, and Simon looked all about the peak, expecting to see movement of the being descending towards them but saw nothing. _**The mountain was still.**_

"I suppose we ought to see you back to the caves then..." The boy announced loudly, turning his stance towards the human and Nephilim girl as his Parabatai rose out of the cold embankment, and her hand extended to the dark- haired girl expectantly as her green eyes scanned mountain peaks.

Vianey took it, though she hardly needed the assistance up. She was on her feet, trudging back up the way they had fallen before she had felt it, the weight around her neck lying differently. Her hand came up, searching, and dragged back the cross.

Where once had been her caged gem in her cross was now melted snow, crystal hard and unmoving in the rounded base of the clasp.

_**XOX**_

_**Gwyn… my love… my Knight… Watch over that girl. You must see her to her father for me.**_

"You fear a _**mortal**_ man, my Queen?" turning his head to the side with a clicking sort of creak, the ancient creature did not speak, as he knew she would not. He had not heard the natural sound of her voice for ages, now and one little mortal would not be enough to draw her breath. Instead, she stayed frozen in her place, her lashes fluttering shut in a doe- like fashion, deceptively sweet as she pondered the response she might give, or perhaps if she ought to lead him on. He was never certain which the Queen of the Hunt would lean towards. She was not the wordy sort, rather she preferred to act out her own wishes alone, or to inquire the command into another's head for them to follow out as if it were their own desire that had taken hold of them, but with Gwyn it had always been different.

She _**valued**_ his clarity, and she repaid his ability to balance blood lust and the souls at their wake with an almost kind affection, like he might have been a lover once that she had grown tired of and would have caste off, but he had never betrayed her trust and was allowed to remain in her service for his fealty. It was a despicable feeling, to be sure, but for this fallen Queen he felt nothing but the utmost respect, and he would allow no one but her to walk over him the way she did.

She was beside him at once, quiet as death itself, as if sensing the dark turn his thoughts had taken the moment they had begun to shift, and her long fingers curled endearingly in his tawny hair behind the skeletal mask she had first bestowed on him when he was but a boy vowing vengeance over his own fallen corpse. Her head had tilted to the side in wonder as her knees folded beneath her and she fell nobly to kneel before him, long hair spilling out across her shoulders and over the crisp snow in an ebony waterfall as she observed him with equally dark eyes. Her expression was muted but curious and wide with wonder, like a young child, and her hands searched in a manner befitting her intrigue, mapping out the planes of his larger form. They traced along his face, measuring, knowing until her bony fingers hooked along the edge of his mask and drew it up, and it was suddenly like he had broken the surface of a lake after someone had tried to drown him in it, like he was breathing in for the first time in his life and it was as much brilliant in its strength as it hurt. His eyes fluttered shut against the dim morning light as he felt her cold lips pressing soft, open mouthed kisses from his chin where the skeletal mask had exposed the light stubble up a staggering path to his lips, her long nose knocking against his as the mask rattled up enough to become a visor for them both, suspended over their heads as the innocent kiss deepened and her hand, still hooked around the mask, had wrapped around the antler, angling him against her with nowhere to go but closer.

It was a kiss of farewell, an act he knew would come like he knew the sun would rise on the morrow and his next breath would probably be agonizing like the last, and once she knew she had won him over, she pressed her forehead against his, her eyelashes brushing his cheekbones as she gazed at him with that look that had first ensnared him, so vengeful and sweet that it was hard for him to decide to love her or hate her.

_**You must do this for me, my fair Gwyn… for I ask it of you and I will entrust no other…**_

"Yes, my Queen."

She was gone before he had spoken the words and without her there to keep it up, his mask fell back into place like she had slammed it back over his face. He knew that she had heard the answer whether he had spoken it or not, knew he would do as he was told. She was lovely, after all, and ever as worthy of his honorable arm as any.

Rising from his knee, Gwn ap Nudd took his place overlooking the young bumbling through the bitter cold.

_**XOX**_

Jace's hand shot up, the long fingers clawing at his shoulder as he clenched the spot over his birthmark. The whole muscle was burning, red hot in a way he only ever associated with the ill or infected, and as he dragged his palm away, he half expected to see something, anything, that was out of the ordinary. His hand came away clean. "Alec, come here for a moment."

The boy obeyed, nervously setting aside the fletching he was assembling against his handmade arrows. They were going to be gone far longer than they anticipated, he just knew it, and with Jace as loud of a hunter as he was, he'd been scaring away game faster than they came upon it. It left Alec little choice than to prepare the spares in hopes that he might get a chance to use them effectively. The live ammunition was for threats, after all.

"What's wrong, Jace?" nothing had to be said. The Lightwood boy was always effectively aware, especially of his Herondale, and the boy seemed on edge.

"You see anything going on with my shoulder?" his hands drew away the thin fabric of his shirt, baring the chorded muscles beneath. Alec tried not to gasp, not to draw attention to his wandering eyes as his gaze drifted over the other boy's sculpted pectorals and pleasantly colored flesh. If he did make a sound, Jace was too wrapped up in himself to notice, and took it as further initiative to freak out. What did he think was going on?

A gentle hand moved on its own accord, brushing along the clavicle and the golden haired boy jumped, "What is it? What do you see?"

"Someone who is in serious need of more clothing. You're going to freeze to death!" Isabelle called from the opposite side of the camp. She was lounging as she was often prone to doing late in the evening, prodding at the fire embers with one of her brother's casted away branches. She was probably right, she normally was, and when she turned to give them her usual look of annoyance that the two boys were obviously cutting her out of the action in every way they could, Jace saw something peculiar in the way her face shifted, turning her head off to the side. "_**I told you**_ we shouldn't have headed up into the hills. It's not a nice place in summer, much further ahead and we could freeze to death, you know. I love Clary as much as the next person, but following nothing out there to our near probable doom outranks my affection for her. If she's up there, she'll be dead in no time."

"We'll be lucky if we don't freeze down here…" He wasn't meant to hear it, he know he wasn't, but the way the girl turned away, her arms folded over her chest, she seemed almost delicate somehow. _**Weak.**_

"_**Are you**_ feeling alright, Iz?" Came Alec's nervous tenor, as he stepped away from the larger boy. His sister was smaller, slighter than he was, and he felt the bitter wind terribly as it ripped through the foot hills they were camping on. It hadn't been meant to be for the night, but they were all bone weary, and she had insisted they stop.

"I haven't slept in days."

"None of us have. We are all worried, Isa-"

"_**No**_. I mean I _**cannot**_ sleep, haven't slept." Tiredly, the girl swiped the soft back of her hand against her eye lids, dragging the bruised flesh away almost as one might roll dough into wrinkles as you folded it as you kneaded it. "I keep hearing these people whispering, calling to me from the edges of the places I fall into when I sleep."

Voices? Now that was new. Delirium was a sign disease and of death lurking nearby, an old foe that the Nephilim knew all to well and suddenly, both boys saw how much this trip away from home was taking its toll on the only female of their expedition.

"The people, did you recognize them?" Even headed as always, her brother fell to his knees as his hand brushed against her forehead urgently, his long fingers drawing her hair away from her brow before he tested the flushed skin with the tips of his lips.

She felt red hot. Unsteadily, Isabelle turned into the embrace, curling into her brother's thicker arms as hers came up to cradle him close, "You mean can I name the owner? I can't. But I have heard them before, ever since I was a little girl."

You are beautiful, Isabelle Sophia Lightwood.

_You will make us proud._

_**Grow old, grow strong, young one.**_

_**Your time is not yet.**_

Her voice did not change, but the tones in which it repeated itself in her mind did. She heard them as she had now for days, repeating over and over the musical lilt to the women's…_woman's?_ voice, the sound so familiar it was hard for her to distinguish now if one person spoke while casting their voice or if they were three very alike people. Isabelle couldn't bring herself to voice the things they whispered in her ear. She wouldn't say such a thing to her brother, or to Jace, but she had heard such a thing in people before, in all three of the Morgenstern's to be precise, a change in pitch that it made her double take to make certain it was who she thought was speaking because it didn't sound exactly right, like listening to someone through a filter. It was like that now, and even though she saw her brother's lips moving, she couldn't say that without a doubt the sounds had come from him. Swallowing hard, she finally answered her elder brother with as much honesty as she could muster, "They called themselves the Lady of Midnight. A self- proclaimed title, I'm sure. Let me be, Alec, _**I'm sure**_ I'm fine."

The dark haired boy obeyed, letting the girl draw away from them on her own, even letting her stomp off like a petulant child to sulk beside a knarred tree, her arms folded over her chest like a pout, but he could see the way her fingers clung to her thin jacket, as if she could hold the fabric any closer and warm herself.

Jace saw it too, and coming up behind him, made forward as if he would follow her away. He hesitated again, his hand returning to the mark at his shoulder, and tentatively took a step away. His clenching fingers came away at once, and he winced before he fell to his knees and began to pack up the camp hurriedly, not really bothering to take the time to neatly settle anything, "That would be our last sign to leave."

Turning the blue- eyed boy quirked an eyebrow at the other boy's direction, Alec eyed him nervously, having entirely missed the flare up of pain in Jace returning with a vengeance. "Don't give me that. Whether Isabelle would admit it or not, she's obviously sick, going mad with a fever. I'll be damned if we go deeper into the mountains with her acting like this at the foothills."

"When she's done flipping out, drag her back down here for me. I'm going to figure out what new direction to go next."

_**XOX**_

_**Author's Note:**_

_**Part 2 of 3**_

_**Alexxis: either way, thank you for reviewing. I had this feeling that the lack of reviews might have had to do with the OCs introduction. The characters are honestly simply there to drive the plot onward for where I'm taking this story. The love triangle will return, it was always meant to, but the Lena's purpose was to fill in the missing werewolves Maia and Jordan, who were, I felt, also meant for plot progressions. Luke never left Brocelind, so Maia and Jordan aren't major of characters in his life, though they might be for Kito, Veronique, Greta, Gabriel and Amabel.**_

_**In the next chapter or two we'll be swinging back to Jonathan's Point of View for a bit before continuing plot line forward.**_

_**What to know: Clary and Simon were at the edge of the mountain range, and went down from the cave in the higher elevations, **_deeper_** into the mountains, whereas Jace, Alec and Isabelle had just hit the edge of the mountains and had started going up. Past that, you can make your own connections. :)  
**_

_**Liked it? Share the Love.**_

_**Review, Recommend, Fave, or Follow**_

_**I would really like to hear from everyone!**_

_**Til next time**_

_** TAORI  
**_


	16. I'm Lost Here Without You

The returning trip had taken much longer than their descent had been, and Clary trudged along the ice bitterly, her excitement at being chased down the mountain because someone wanted her company that much dwindling down to splinters so sharp that she could have killed someone with them. Trying her best to stiffen the violent tendencies that had risen up in her, the dainty girl wrapped her arms tight enough around her chest that her shoulders were as far forward as they could go and her hands were rapidly scraping up and down her biceps to friction up some heat.

The eldest among them was so ecstatic that she didn't recognize the other two dragging their feet. She had led them with a high bounce to her step, back up the steep, craggy ground back to the mouth of the cave, and down into the belly of the mountain itself. It seemed to fly for her, her heart fluttering hard against her chest as her fingers entwined with the pretty Nephilim girl. She hadn't even minded how under dressed she had been for the snow- everything was just that right.

At least, it had been _**outside**_. Coming inside, they all had felt the discord, the tension, as they rounded the hallway that had led to the bedroom Clary and Simon were meant to have shared. Nearly all of the pack had been down their waiting for them, deep in the throes of an argument that Luke didn't even have an ionce of ability to control. Kito was in his face, fierce and commanding as he bellowed angrily at her Alpha. The rest of the pack was simply bystanders with loud opinions; though there was no violence yet, there could be at any given moment, and no one would get between them as a marked man.

Their wives were the only ones to be easily spotted missing, though their absence seemed to add more fuel to the fire than if they'd been the ones actually in the fight, as Vianey could hear the sharp pitch of the end of Veronique's name on her husband's tongue more than once.

"No one's saying your wife is a liar, Kito..." Asa's hand clenched down on Luke's bicep from behind, the only other person to stand with the two feuding men, and looking to the where the taller male leaned closer to his side, the elder male saw the younger Lena coming up to the gathering to join the back of the crowd from where they had entered the room on tentative footfalls; Clary and Simon were pale and blotchy beside her but safe from their journey and they followed the dark haired girl's gesture to stand behind Luke for support in the enclosing circle.

"Look Kito, Veronique's claims are unfounded; the kids made it back unscathed. There's nothing else lurking outside our door."

"It's hardly a question if a holy warrior can keep herself safe from a demon_**, that is**_ her duty after all. It's if _**we**_ can survive the attack. She's given our position away, and now we'll have to divide our forces again to cover the other entrance because that little bitch-"

"Force her out, Luke!"

Mica was one of their clearly set opposition, though he had taken a safe spot standing beside Gabriel, and his sister knew instantly it had not been another of the Alphas that had spoken. Asa looked smashed to a thousand pieces, but even he knew when their elder brother was trying to align himself too strongly with someone for his own good. He spoke probably not from his own opinion, but the one who had culled his ear and fealty. "She doesn't belong here, Luke, and she made it quite clear that she doesn't want to stay. No one but your wife wants her here and she's becoming a liability the longer you force her to keep residence with us."

Turning, the fray- haired man looked to the naive Shadow hunter girl, her wide green eyes pinning him down with a look of mild despair and shock. It was clear she had endangered herself, possibly more of his pack members than Vianey if Veronique's complaints held any validity to their desperation, and though it would pain him to do anything to the girl, he would send her away before any real harm came to his pack mates.

Vianey was the first to recognize the turn in Luke's steely eyes, the sudden agreement that had begrudgingly forced its way over his otherwise stoic expression, and she began to panic. They would send Clary away without a second thought, would sign her fate to the solitary path she had walked before the girl had come to her, just because the pack voice had squashed down the only ones that had spoken in her defense.

Clary wasn't a monster, nor was she as helpless as everyone had defined her as. She was a Nephilim to be certain, a warrior of god, but in His name, she had found herself an avenging angel cast by the hands of God and twisted by the wickedness in the world until she was nearly broken in two. There was strength coursing through the girl's veins that even she no doubt had no knowledge of, the scars of resilience in refusing to accept defeat. but Vianey had seen it the moment she had laid eyes on her, seen the viciousness rise up in her when she was consumed by terror, had seen the waste she had wrought when she had been at last thrown into a corner. She hadn't realized it then, but she didn't fear Clary herself after the incident in the deeper tunnels, but for her. What if someone else had seen that pure warrioristic essence and decided to squelch it before it became an all- consuming flame?

No, she could not let them put her out, nor extinguish whatever she might have had with her. Plan in hand, she knew there was only one thing she could do now to force their attention. This would either go extraordinarily well or terribly for them both.

As if sensing the other girl's turmoil, Clary had half turned, her hand already reaching out to settle against the elder girl's arm to placate her. Vianey reached over the distance between them, her hand swimming in the ruby curls that fell around the other girl's neck and pulled her face in for an opened mouthed kiss the second the distance between them had become manageable, forcing the slighter girl to stumble a bit towards her with the roughness.

Her mouth was firm and yielded nothing, not even tenderness. Clary had not been kissed like that before, like there was something to be proven; all of her shared kisses before had been affectionate, timely things that she could have seen coming a mile away from her brothers, and on rare occasions Simon. Here she felt pain and warmth rising up inside her, and the arms around her kept her from falling and moving away, though she felt like she was doing both.

It was quick, albeit shocking. When the taller girl yanked away, there was a viciousness that had burned across the serene palette of her face that had not been there before, like a mother protecting her children or as the case seemed to have it, a male safeguarding a potential mate. Clary stayed put where the elder girl insisted she belonged but allowed her hand to stray to the warmth escaping her lips, swelling tenderly as the other hand clung to her shoulder for support, lest she fall away and hit the unmerciful ground. She could feel Vianey's nails clawing at her back, but remained smartly quiet after an initially small sound of surprise escaped her swollen lips. A rough tug later and all pretenses of standing on her own were gone and she was slumped heavily against the human girl.

Clary's back was cool, the fabric falling away to expose the claw marks ragging over her delicate shoulder blade where Vianey had tugged it down roughly, but she was not cold. She felt every gaze on them, on her and the scarring flesh, and Vianey roughly dragged her against her larger body.

"You _**cannot take her**_ from me! She's mine!" The girl snarled, her fingers curling in the thick red curls possessively. It kept Clary close as well, not that she was of the mind to try to pull away at the moment, and the Nephilim leaned closer so that the lock of hair didn't tug instinctively as Vianey's attention fixed on the mob; her bright eyes raked over the crowd with a contemptible rage, calling out any that would kill her friend. "Anyone want to challenge that?!"

A hushed silence fell over the gathering. Everyone stared so hard at them, dissecting them but no one dared speak out against one of the Lena's, though they began one by one surging forward, changing so that the Alphas now stood at the back of the crowd, and the two girls had their entire attention. This was their would- be princess and their begrudgingly angelic princess, and none of the pack would deny either for fear of the future. Clearly cut out sides had already began to form again, even though no one would publicly voice their backing until there was a distinct probability of them rising up and challenging the Alpha. Looking across the group from her restricted vantage point, she could see the way their faces twisted, their attention only halfway given for the most part, weighing whether or not they ought to speak. Clary was tempted to challenge it herself but doubted this was the time or the place. Her mouth was on fire where the other girl had pressed her lips in earnest and they tingled with swelling. Looking down, the slight girl saw the how close she had been dragged against the other girl, the way their breasts had pressed so close together that they looked like they would pop soon, and knew that the time for protests was long over. No one would believe that they weren't already involved with each other, not with how long it took for her to deny it, even if she pulled away now.

Clary took to looking at the crowd instead. In their silence, they were contemptible, and their rage slowly bloomed and spread like wildfire that one of their own might be taken to a Shadow hunter. Asa was among them, his expression shaken and downtrodden all at once as he looked at his sister in disbelieve and heartbreak. His hurt settled her for a moment before it upset her. Asa wouldn't deny his sister anything, and she realized that the hurt was being blamed solely on her, his darkening eyes looking almost wistfully at her, begging her to deny it or to turn Vianey down in his favor. She looked away, and her eyes swept desperately around the room again before they settled on a bewildered boy, his thick brown brows knitted together, his jaw agape in disbelief, and she tried her best to look strong when his aggravation shook her to her soul and maybe deeper still. He'd been waiting for someone, anyone, to speak against whatever show this was for.

"Yeah, _**sure**_. I will." Simon said sarcastically, shrugging almost ironically. Stepping from the crowd, he gave a withering look to the few people that had given him an darker enough look that they could have rivaled Jonathan's pouting, and swung his arms out as if he might surprise the other girl off of his Parabatai, though she looked barely amused, closer to drawing blood, and poor Clary looked wilted. There was no way his Parabatai was into girls and he didn't know it already. He was oblivious at times but not when it came to Clary. He'd watched her grow up before his eyes since he was seven, his world revolved around her. Besides, her Parabatai Isabelle had to be the hottest woman alive and-

No. _**He**_ was her Parabatai not Izzy. He'd snatched the girl away last minute by some stroke of luck he had no hope of understanding. Had that been why Clary had picked him in the end though, because she had other plans for Isabelle? The thought hadn't occurred to him before but it made perfect sense now that the accusation had been caste in his mind. Isabelle was the prettiest girl he had ever seen, bar any vampire. He could see just about anyone falling for her beauty; he himself had been, before she had shown him she was nothing more than a spoiled brat, so why not Clary, whom she had shared a profound bond long before he had ever been captured? _**Why then,**_ would she be giving him such a wounded look now? The girl looked backed into a corner.

"You'll have to kill me for her." There was a malevolent finality to the human girl's sweet voice and she groped behind her at her belt with the free hand that didn't support Clary's weight against her. She drew out a stiletto blade the length of her forearm and brandished it at him with a flick of the wrist that spun it the right way, before she buried her face into the mass of red hair with a soft nuzzle.

"Clary, do you want him?" the girl began softly, her lips at the edge of her ear. She didn't seem to hesitate for her answer before she carried on with a dark look to the curly haired boy that defiantly stood before them, "No, of course not. I won't be _**ridiculous**_; you Nephilim do uphold the strangest of values after all, and your warrior bond is the most sacred vow that you can take."

Simon could have growled at the bitch. What right did she have to tread on their beliefs? She seemed to have enough respect for her own traditions and values, after all. The girl paled but said nothing to draw the other girl's ire further, but she would receive it. They were a pair, they were one. At least, that was what their vow had claimed, and if the feeling in his gut said anything, it was fairly likely and reasonable to agree. He felt the tremble of defeat, the nullified resistance.

"How about any suitors back home, then? Anyone waiting for you back in Alicante?

"_**No."**_it was soft, barely an answer at all, but her humiliation had her darting glance begging Simon for help he could not give without risking her harm. Her mind had turned to Jace, her golden eyed adopted brother, to her actual brother, Jonathan, and though she knew both loved her beyond mention, they would not be waiting for her. They wouldn't have enough faith in her for that. They would be on the forefront to search for her if they could, or busying themselves to forget her absence, and she hoped, prayed it was the latter. They deserved some peace.

She couldn't, _**shouldn't,**_ claim either, either. They were her brothers. It was against nature. But she had loved no one as much as she had them, and Jace all the more than Jonathan. He was her dark and haunting secret, one she had denied herself for what felt like lifetimes before accepting after that dream she had had. There was little doubt that he would be her only choice for a husband, should she take one, about as much doubt that her father would forbid it regardless of how hard they may plead.

"_**No one in Alicante…." **__but perhaps Idris…._

"Do you want anyone else from the pack, then? All these fine boys, any of them catch your eye?"

There was no answer. Clary had withdrawn altogether and was falling away from giving any attention at all. She had dug herself into that small little pendant against the dark- haired girl's throat, and her fingers brushed against the chain and down along the arched peaks of the four arms that held the bauble within. She could feel the vibrations of her breath as she snarled at her. "_**I want to**_ _**hear you say it**_. Tell them they have_** no**_ chance with you, that you can _**never **_love them the way you do me."

She was being cruel to Clary as much as she was to her brethren, but she was trying to make a point, to draw that final hard line that would stop anyone from approaching her. The tension in the room was thick enough to choke on, and her eyes only fell on Vianey, the roughness that tore across her face as if it physically hurt her to demand something so destructive from the Nephilim girl.

"I can't say something so untrue." Her head jerked hard to the side with a loud crack and for a moment, she could only stand stunned at the apex of a very large crowd. She had backhanded her across the cheek, the pain blossoming across her flesh far faster than the kiss had, and she could already feel the skin swelling as her hand jerked up to cradle the poor skin that had been injured. She hadn't yet realized that she was on the ground.

The girl tried to rush forward again, to regain the lost closeness and reclaim the smaller girl. What had she just done? Clary was already one step ahead, and she was back stepping towards the mob that seemed to close in altogether on the small outburst, scrambling up to her feet as she rushed away. Her Parabatai was already on edge and she could see him running escape plans in his head, tracking weapons he could make a mad dash for and disarm from someone else so he could use them to keep them safe. He would have her cut down belly to sternum before she got another chance to strike his partner.

"Simon, its fine, you can stand down." Luke had pushed up to the forefront of the line again, and had left an opening to give the two an escape if they wished to take it and flee from the compound entirely, and he couldn't blame either of them for it. Flicking his wrist upward in a fairly commanding gesture towards the other Nephilim who had fallen in line with his step daughter, Luke leveled a dark look on the girl that he had practically raised and she quickly looked away only to see the same disappointment on the few people that had met her gaze. These were_** her**_ friends,_** her**_ family, and suddenly she was a pariah among them. Clary had gained enough distance that she couldn't reach her and she had taken them backward until she was practically pressing her toes against Simon, "Nothing's gonna happen to Clary. She won't attempt that again, not with me here."

Clary might have heard it, but she was already bolting for the door, faster than Simon could keep up. The pack gave no effort to keep them; in fact, some had already begun to disperse, and those that were in the way were shoved out of her path rather quickly.

There was only a few seconds between her disappearance and Luke moving, just long enough for her to realize how deep in it she had dug herself and enough time to see her Nephilim disappear entirely.

"Luke- Luke! LUKE!" The dark haired girl cried as the man stamped towards her. She had no defense against her Alpha or his wrath, and the man had her about the bicep and was dragging her down the hall opposite the way Clary and Simon had gone faster than she could stop him. Her hazel eyes darted with panic to her brothers, who seemed firm in not wanting to help her in the slightest.

_**XOX**_

She heard the shifting of the curtain as it was brushed aside just enough that someone might pass through unnoticed, but Clary knew she would come, and had taken up a spot in the center of her bed, prepared to take flight from the room if she needed to.

"I'm really not in the mood for heartfelt serenades and other outlandish soliloquies about your affections for me."

"Good thing I'm not here for that, then. I wanted to apologize. It wasn't right of me to strike you." her voice was soft, and despite her unwanted presence pushed further into the room until she was beside her at the bed, reaching out to touch the pale beauty. She was real to her, but still somehow wrapped in the haze of a dream that seemed ready to burst open to reveal the ugly realities of the world.

Clary pulled away. "I'm flattered, _**really**_ I am. I just have to be honest with you; I'm not into girls Vi. I'm sorry."

The hazel eyes she had learned to know so well rose to hers for a moment before darting to look away at something far off. Vianey had known that there would have been tension, but not this much distance. She had come to terms with it after listening to Luke and later Jocelyn tear into her about the consequences of her actions.

_What , by the Angel, did you think you were doing, Vianey? She is too young Vianey! You're too young! You don't even know what love is yet, let alone if she is the one to spend your life with. If you tie yourself to her, that's it. There is no divorce for a werewolf, only death-_

The conversation she had been drug into was not the most pleasant of experiences, but it made a very even line for her to toe. She would not regret her actions, nor the emotions that brought them on, but she saw now that there was a way she should have taken, eased them both into it rather than trying to submerge everyone in the truth, but it was the only thing she could do. Clary had been a first of many things, and to keep her Vianey couldn't think of anything she wouldn't have done- including sacrificing any chance for children of her own.

She wanted children, desperately so, but not at the cost of losing whatever it was between them.

"I love you, Clarissa." Came her soft response and when the curvaceous girl looked sideways back to her at last, Clary knew it to be the truest thing the werewolf- raised girl had said to her, and her heart wrenched because she denied her the care and affection that person such as Vianey truly deserved. She didn't cry or beg, she simply watched with that gaze of hers that the red head had always known was continuously calculating. The silence dragged on long enough to be awkward between them and the Shadow hunter diverted her gaze. It hurt physically to see her like this.

"I need you so much Clary." The break in her trance put Vianey back into the right mind- set. The other girl half expected begging and sobbing soon. That's what girls did when they wanted something wasn't it? Not that Vianey was ever anything that Clary expected, ever like the other girls her age that she had known back home or even here. "I cannot let anyone part us. It's alright that you don't love me, I don't expect you to ever return my feelings, but I have to do everything in my power to protect you."

"Will you trust me to protect you, Clary? I promise to safeguard your heart if you promise to take the same care."

Her long fingers intertwined with Clary's and the girl was amazed at the warmth that radiated from the hand that enclosed around hers, folding it to her will. The golden rings that dangled loosely on her fingers looked like woven metal binding their hands together and Clary tried to focus on the band around her ring finger, spinning it around.

Mere months separated them, yet this girl was ready for so much more than Clary was. She wanted a life partner, she was already raising a family practically. Vianey wanted a home to belong to but she didn't belong here as she was and she was unable to be turned, her brothers had put up enough safeguards to prevent that. Their baby sister would remain as pure and human as she had come to them, and anyone that threatened that had to be eliminated. They would not damn her to only this life. It was as commendable as it was heartless.

Clary understood her heart ache. As long as she could remember, people were trying to put themselves between her and danger, until she had been convinced that being a Morgenstern was the equivalent of being invincible. She'd been unprepared to fall so hard. Would this be her own reflection in a few years of having everyone shielding her from the outside world? Somehow, Clary could see more than a few similarities.

Leaning forward, Vianey moved to press a gentle kiss to her lips, only to have Clary cringe away from her lips. The dark haired girl gave pause, so close that she could breathe her in and smell the delicate traces of sweat, could see the gentle pores along her smooth face turning to gooseflesh as her breath washed over her cheeks, and she looked to the ceiling, damning her life so far. She was so close that she could seize what she wanted, but she wanted it freely given, the girl's affection.

It would come one day, in some form or another, and she would be ready to receive it.

"What I think you need most is a friend here." The words were soft, soothing like a balm to her soul, and her hand folded her fingers to her longer ones.

"I think I would like that. _**Thank you." **_

Reaching behind her neck the thicker girl struggled with the necklace that laid against her collarbone with jerky movements that noted her desperation and unwound the chain wrapped around her throat like a collar with the same tension in her shoulders.

"Vianey-" The elder girl pressed it into her clammy palm, folding her fingers around the cross that began burning brighter the moment she touched it. A soft smile tugged at her thick lips as she watched the Nephilim girl's fist with barely concealed affection, her downcast eyelashes brushing lazily across her cheekbones as the soft glow blazed stronger, flickering in its strength.

"You promise to safeguard your heart. But I can do one better. I vow to protect your very soul, Clarissa Morgenstern. For now that mine has known yours it will not be content with another." Rising up, the elder girl quickly pressed a kiss to her forehead, and hurried from the room without any further utterance, leaving Clary to wonder after her.

_**What did she mean?**_

_**XOX**_

To her great surprise, Vianey had not returned to Clary's room that night, nor come for her in the morning. It had been nearly been half the morning when she had risen on her own accord, sore and stiff to the point she reminded herself of popcorn bursting from the hard nut shell as she sat up with Simon's help when he'd realized she was still in bed after wandering around the dining room looking for her.

He'd helped her pull herself together, which had taken a considerable amount of effort on his part, removing her bed clothes and replacing them with ones she ought to be seen in and taming her fiery hair to half wild, before dragging her to her feet and down to a packed dining room.

They were on their own for only a few moments before the human girl had strutted into the room with a sense of self- worth, and dragged the only empty seat back at the table loudly, drawing the two Nephilim's divided attention. "I've had a lot of time to think and I've decided I don't care."

"Eight hours by yourself and you've accomplished so much. Think what would happen if you made more time for reflection..." Simon snarkily murmured, bringing the chipped teacup to his lips before taking a small bite of the stale sweet roll he'd been nibbling on between sips. If it had been good tea like they had at the Morgenstern house, he'd take to dipping it, but it was weak, practically water tinged brown, and he didn't fancy a soggy breakfast.

"I don't care what **you** want anymore. This is **our **table, **my** table and **I'm **eating **here**. You don't like it, **move**." With a roughness Clary hadn't seen in some time, the other girl dropped down in the remaining chair, ignoring the helpless looks her brothers were shooting at her to come to their replacement setting. She was certain they were just worried what would happen to their baby sister without their protection but Clary found her thoughts turning to a similar source. What would _**they**_ do if she relinquished some of that pent up rage they knew she was sitting on?

Midway to a bite, Vianey snatched the danish from Simon's hand. She brought it to her full lips with a smile at the bewildered boy, and bit down on it hard enough to sink just her teeth into.

A look of disgust passed over her serene face as she turned to glance at Clary, half sleepy eyed as she tore into a hunk of bread disinterestedly. "Is this really what they've been feeding you?"

"It's what was here when we showed up. I guessed it was meant for us..." Sheepishly, Clary looked away. The concern wasn't something she'd expected from the dark- haired girl this early after their talk last night, but it was evident as her face fell into upset. Vianey's fingers flexed along the edge of the pastry, testing the solidity of what should have been a treat before tossing it back onto Simon's plate.

"I'll be back with something edible. Something that couldn't kill one of our dogs." Pushing back from the chair, the girl paused for a moment to regard Simon who looked a bit dismayed, "But if you do insist, by all means do help yourself, mister Nephilim. It will save me the effort of correcting that dirty look earlier."

With that she was off, rounding the tables with a magnificent smile and charm to find food to replace what had been left abandoned on their plates. It was something to watch, the way the girl smiled at her pack mates, flirted perhaps as she leaned in amongst her people, her lopsided head jerking in a fond way towards Clary, and offering up something in her hand to whoever eventually made a trade with her, and before long, Vianey had amassed enough edible food for them to feed on.

"How did you manage all that?" Simon eyed the plate she'd returned with, a heaping pile of roasted potatoes, sweets and thin slices of cured meat. She'd been barely able to hide the smirk that played with the seam of her lips as she shook her head and produced a set of small tokens from her pocket, expired currency from the bygone era of when humans were the predominant strength roaming earth.

"You gamble?" Clary asked with a rush to her voice as she leaned forward. She thought she remembered seeing a deck of cards somewhere, and she'd wanted to learn to play ever since Alec and Jonathan had gotten the games banned after a fist fight broke out over a game of Rummy.

"No, not really." Vianey smiled to herself, fully aware that the girl seemed to melt at her response. "Then again, it's not really gambling if you know you can't lose."

_**XOX**_

The arm that had anchored her comfortably at the hip against the soft body behind her shifted, falling to give way as the slighter girl sat up. Vianey groaned, a soft murmur as she buried her face against the thinner girl's side, her hand tightening, fisting against her thigh, and Clary had to glance back to make sure she hadn't woken the elder girl up with the movement of rising. With much luck, the girl slumbered on, her thick lips in a soft pout as she breathed in and out softly through her mouth. Her eyes darted behind her full, dark lashes, but she was hours away from the waking world.

Clary never had considered that she could find such contentment in another girl's arms, the soft curves that would unfurl beneath the bony ridges of her own frame to meld softly against her like a warm cocoon. It was a comfort she was surprised, even more, to have found here, and not with the girl she had always been intended to bond with. There was an unsettling discontent in it too, however, because she was here and not with her own kind, here toying with the emotions of a naïve human instead of protecting her. The longer she lingered here, the further she seemed to forget that she really was someone.

She had remained idle here for too long. What had it been now, three weeks? Five? Her grasp on time was slipping past her fingers as much as her days were.

Shifting, her feet found the stone floor cold, and jumped after wincing away as she forced them hard against the slate, drawing away so that the older girl's arm fell away gently with a fluidity of repeated attempts; this was all part of her daily routine now, and somehow, Clary wondered how her days were not bleak when she had lived with her Nephilim kin. Here, there was always life, always movement, like the beat of a heart. She could always find something to do, someone to spend time with, or at least she would if they were as accepting of her as the Lena children had been. Months had passed, and still the same distrustful looks followed her, weighing her where ever she went. It would have been maddening had it not been for Vianey, for her brothers who could only have taken to tolerating her because their baby sister had done so.

Not that she didn't miss home. She did, really. But there was something of a balance to life here that she had never known before. It didn't matter whose kid she was here. She was no one and someone all at once. She was simply Clary, the single entity that was wandering aimlessly about the compound. It was something she had to get used to still.

Vianey had reasserted her importance again, albeit less viciously this time, but it felt like the young Nephilim just couldn't shake her off her trail. It almost felt like she was sneaking out after curfew, just to go down to the training room on her own.

Hell, she didn't even really care anymore if Simon made it down there or not to team up with her anymore, she just needed some space.

She could still feel the distance in the other pack members too, however. Something of Vianey's stance among her people had set them off of her trail, and now the space they gave her seemed more out of respect of the Lena family and not Clary herself. She could feel them watching her at every turn, trying to gauge her and their interest in her shoulder was unsettling to say the least. More than once she had felt delicate fingers run over the uneven skin where Vianey had clawed her.

It also seemed to settle some of the werewolves however. The elder of the Lena twins was at last at ease with her, almost to the point of being as friendly as Vianey started off, having offered to show her some defense moves in Krav Maga after seeing the abysmally small display she had shown everyone when taking on Vianey in that first fight.

_**"You're smart," **_he'd pointed out the morning after she had left as he rounded on her practicing with SImon. He'd kicked at the back of her ankle and almost took her to the ground when her foot slid further than she anticipated and lost her balance. He'd been there to right her, irking her further at his flawlessly smooth movements, like rolling water was his skin over hardened basalt rocks in a river. _**"Cunning like a raptor, but you'll drop every meal if you hold back the killing strike."**_

He took her training personally, with every failure as if he had failed, and every succession as his own as well. It upset his sister for a few days that she wouldn't speak to him, or at least that's how it seemed. Clary was unsure if she had yet gotten over it, but at least Vianey was speaking to her, and that's what counted, right?

"_**Where**_ are you _**going**_, Nephilim?" one of the hall guards called, watching her warily. Undoubtedly, they worried that she would take off and they would have to persuade Vianey to be merciful after they failed to keep her in this time.

She watched them as well and simply walked further down the tunnels, vaguely aware that she was nearly naked to her standards as the cold dampness seeped into her bones, her soft pear shape apparent in her state of undress for training. Her feet were the only thing on her that were cold surprisingly, despite how her shorts only reached a few scant inches down her thighs and the tank top she wore wasn't warm enough to keep her breasts from feeling the chill and they responded horrifically, practically cutting through the thin fabric so bad that her arms covering them did nothing to quell her discomfort.

Rushing her pace a bit more, the practice blade at her side struck her legs harder than usual, drawing out a rose blush along her thigh to her knee.

It would be gone in a matter of hours, but the discomfort was still there now, and she blamed the Lena brothers for this. If not for their specific instructions on how she was meant to dress for training every morning, she would have showed up in jeans and a jacket, her hair in the exact same mess as it was now rumpled up in a messy bun she had twisted from a pony tail.

_**XOX**_

"Grab that bow staff." Mica was already warming up, his brother breathless against the wall and drenched with sweat. Asa looked at her with a weary smile, his eyes half lidded as he swiped the dripping wetness from his face and it visibly dripped from his forearm where it had congealed into a sort of horrific smelling rain. Hesitantly, she returned the smile, padding quietly into the room when she realized they were the only ones there, and her assumption immediately went to everyone still in bed, which suited her just fine.

She preferred being the first to rise, _the early bird catches the worm, _as they say.

Clary had learned in her two weeks sparring with them that on a good day, they could take on the elder brother together with some chance for success. But today was not a good day. Asa was already exhausted, and she wasn't even warmed up.

It was werewolves against the Nephilim today then, and Simon was late to the party.

Clary glanced over to the weapon, the sinuated wood pole that leaned with a neglected turn in the corner where some pup had probably left it abandoned after one of the older wolves put them in their place. It would be barely long enough to keep the appropriate distance between them, and after all of her struggles to appear empowered and on the same level as the rest of this pack, she knew that taking up arms against them would only be seen as weakness.

Her hands closed before she took the wrong decision and raised her tight fists in the air beside her head as she glanced back at the brothers. It was hand to hand or nothing. How else would she ever learn their techniques if she wimped out at any chance?

They recognized the stance, the noble tilt to her chin, and Asa tiredly bowed out, allowing her to fight on more even footing than the daunting two to one odds she'd been facing. Three of her on Mica would have been hard to win.

"Go on, and just draw up your sword. We all know you can't beat me without it."

Glancing between the brothers, Clary knew immediately that they trying to goad her into a weaker state, but all the same tossed the short sword to the side with a note of finality, the blade rebounding as it slid away with a very metallic noise that made the two werewolves cringe at the sharpness.

In only a few seconds she was up on Mica, her fist taking a sharp upward swipe at his Adam's apple like he had showed her once; her small stature could be made very much useful with the right technique administered, and she'd always had lightning fast reflexes. As long as she was the first to strike, she had a greater odds at disarming her opponent enough that she could lay a more serious blow to them. When would they learn that this was consistently her first move that she fell on? They ought to know better than now and try to defend such a vulnerable attack with something to her ribs, or perhaps her legs...

"Keep your arms up kid, you're leaving yourself wide open-"

Asa's hand swiped at her, trying to prod her into position but Clary ducked out and away from the corner Mica and Asa had unsuspectingly left her in, grabbing on hard to the strong wrist he'd tried to strike her with, and using the momentum of Asa's swing, walked herself up onto his chest with one knee at his sternum anchoring her in place as the instep of the other bore down on his bicep from above, roughly shoving it backward as her heel dug into his elbow for purchase. Once there, her unoccupied fist pummeled fast and hard into his face, blood spouting like a faucet from the orifices.

It rushed down his face across her bare, pale thighs. After the initial shock, he tried grappling to offset her, but the arm she had wrenched away from her at first kept her at a safe enough distance away that he couldn't grab at her without giving her a better position to attack him from. Instead, he loosened his position, forcing her to lose purchase and slide from her perch with a cry.

Asa caught her easily enough, his outstretched arms clamping together with the swiftness and sharpness of a mouse trap, his claws none to gently catching the rounded thighs that wrapped tightly around his waist as they scraped up to just past the edge of her shorts.

Her eyes were huge, dilated almost entirely as she panted heavily. She could almost ignore the gentle groping around her ass as innocent, but she doubted it, coming from him.

Falling backward, Clary grabbed hold of the ground and wrenched herself free, flipping herself to the ground and dragging him off balance in the process with a hard twist of her legs. He stumbled before he hit the ground, and they were grappling again, her thighs wrapping around his neck when he'd managed to pin her down.

Unsurprisingly, he began to laugh just as his face began to turn a slightly violet hue. She could choke him to death, and part of her wanted to. It would be so easy to flex her thigh muscles made thick and strong by a good helping of good breeding and bare horseback riding since she was old enough to walk, and it would establish her hierarchy in the pack.

It would also destroy a budding friendship that she was keen to keep. Loosening her legs after he tapped her knee thrice, she went to pull away before what he had gasped to her finally reached her cognitive thinking.

"Nex' time we sho' do this naked."

That was it, he was a dead man. She didn't need someone else to fight for her honor, she knew how to do that well enough on her own now, and the suggestive tone he huskily whispered to her with was enough to sign his death warrant but his hand had slipped higher again, and was running languidly along the soft underside of her knee.

With reflexes like a cobra and the strength of a boa constrictor, her legs snapped tightly around his throat again, turning the gentle caress into a fairly vicious clawing as she bore down on his neck enough to force him to cough.

She had no intention of killing him, but scaring him would take a good deal of effort. He hadn't had enough.

"Let the poor boy go, Clarissa. You know he never expects you to strike him."

Rarely, Mica spoke when they were training one on one, allowing her to recognize her mistakes and correct as she needed, but this time his tone was different. It was not commanding or correcting, but it was acknowledging, and it drew his brother's attention as much as it drew Clary's, startling them both loose from their tumble.

She hadn't noticed it before, but a few of the other kids their age had started coming around, their attention fleeting but grounded on both her and Asa, though no one was interested enough to intervene but Mica. They watched halfheartedly, looking over here and now as they practiced matching swings of boken, practicing the necessary angle and swing of a sword arm.

With a roughness he also be used to by now, the fiery girl used his face to shove herself away with her foot, taking the room she needed to roll to her knees to get off the ground; Asa didn't seem to mind, even as his head smacked into the ground, and his face kept that dreamy glaze to it that made her skin itch as it lulled back and watched her rise up to crawl on her knees and calves. Once his brother was free from the confines of her legs and she'd managed herself to her feet, Mica offered the girl his arm in a gesture Clary had seen others in the pack participate.

It was much like a handshake, an extension of a single arm, but his hand was closed instead of open in offering. He was proud, as he always was, his chin alight in a fashion that made her feel haughty though she did not quite understand why as she moved closer to him.

As she passed, her forearm raised and his arm grazed the edge of hers and they pressed their bodies so close that the young girl could see individual flecks of gold lighting up his hazel eyes. A smile passed his face, lighting up all of the dark angles as his hand opened, fingers extending along her arm to prolong their touch, and when it was all said and done, his fingertips ran along the wiry pointer finger of her hand and drew it open as well so they were poised hand back to hand back, and close enough to kiss.

She suddenly felt it, the body heat, the warm look, and unsure of what it all meant to her, for her, jumped away. Mica took it in stride, allowing his arm to fall to the side as he watched her back away, and Clary continued on towards the wall to sign a break like he'd taught her by slapping her hand against the wall before she tore out of the room all together.

Asa dragged himself slowly from the ground, "Do you really think that was such a smart idea?"

"Do you think marking our sister's betrothed was a good idea? You and I _**both know**_ that she didn't have that tight of a grip on your neck." Mica turned the conversation on the younger of the brothers, his eyebrows furrowing with his obvious displeasure. Asa's face fell in response and he looked away, "Vianey's gonna have to come up with some reason for those marks, you know, and its unlikely to be believed after her little stunt show two weeks ago. You're doing neither of them any justice, only forcing them along or apart, and neither will please Vianey in the end. Let her take her sweet time if she wants it. It's not like _**you'll**_ be the one to get the bone if she loses it."

"You're avoiding the question."

"I'm not, Asa. I'm simply addressing your desire to steal a bitch that our baby sister wants more than you probably do, someone that she's being denied from more than one side, and maybe, just maybe I'd like for her to get her best chance and not have to fight us for her too. You _**are**_ her brother too, Asa, start acting like it."

"Why then?"

"I have my own reasons." Quietly, the older boy padded off to his clothing and pulled on his long sleeved tee shirt abandoned in the corner. He had enough to answer for without explaining to his brother why he made the political moves he did.

_**XOX**_

When Clary finally made it down to breakfast again, she didn't even bother waiting for Simon to rise to his feet as he always did to greet her, choosing to dive into her seat with a desperation that startled both her Parabatai and human guardian. Vianey was upset immediately, having half rose to meet her only to have been denied a brief moment of affection, but looking at the state her Nephilim was in, she forced it down as she fell into the chair behind her, "Clary... what's happened?"

Her warm hand closed over the smaller girl's as concern rose up. The red head had all but barreled into the room half out of breath, covered in blood with enough sweat permeating her tank top that the thin blue material was nearly translucent. It was a sight to be pleased with, if not for the salty smell to her and her obvious discomfort.

People were beginning to notice, and she could hear them whisper.

Clary did not speak in time to tell her what had happened as a shadow passed over their table, and the three gathered looked quickly to see who had come to address them.

Tall and regal, Amabel stood with her chin aloft at the table, her fingers splayed along the rickety edge

"My fiance has told me what has happened." she whispered nobly, but sincere. Her brown eyes refused to meet any ones but Clary's, as she reached out. "I wish to offer you both my appreciation as well as Gabriel's, and hope that you find the extended hand of friendship endearing. Welcome, _**sister**_."

Her arm too rose, much like Mica's had before, her arm twisted delicately with her fingers in a gentle position like she could imagine her handing something to her as that was the pose it had mangled itself into. Clary stared at her hand, unsure of what exactly was going on. Mica had offered her his arm as a symbol of a draw, an understanding that their fight was complete and he would not strike at her for turning on his brother, but coming from the pretty blonde she was unsure of what to make of it.

Amabel laughed awkwardly, her arm still extended as she looked around hopefully. This was not a gesture that anyone often partook in of her stature, and she was hoping beyond measure that no one took notice, "What have I done to displease you so that you would dismiss my offering? My arm is extended, as is my father's pack. Why do you shun me?"

"I don't shun you, Miss Amabel. I just don't understand you."

Her smile widened sharply with a measure of false reassurance as her gaze wandered faster around the room, "Then accept my arm. I offer you nothing but goodness, Miss Greymark..."

Standing up abruptly, Vianey pressed the back of her forearm against the buxom girl's, drawing it along its length in a slow fashion that raised the hair on her arm faster than she could turn to look at her, her pale white hair flying about her as she whipped to look to the human girl that sat among the Nephilim. "I accept your honor, Amabel, on behalf of my mate. Go now, and pass on my acceptance to your future husband. You have pleased the Lena's."

Stiffly, the girl nodded before bolting away, her long hair a vibrantly pale flag waving behind her as Vianey watched her go, sinking back into her seat like all of the bones in her body had suddenly vanished.

"I thought you went over this already, Clary." Simon exasperated as he turned his irritation to the human girl physically unprepared for any verbal match, "she's not agreed to be your mate, Vianey."

"He won't challenge you again." Vianey's voice was soft, broken almost, as she gently tore into the slab of meat she had been tearing into with her teeth earlier, her disinterest forcing her to pick at it with no intention to consume with her dainty fingers. Her eyes watched her hands busying themselves, trying to quell the shaking running through out her body.

The confusion was marked all over her delicate face as she looked up at the human girl at the sound of her voice, the soft and raggedness of it making her worried. Why had Vianey been upset buy this change? Shouldn't she be happy?

"He resigned to you. _**Forever.**_ He announced to the pack that you are superior." There was a sharpness that reminded Clary of forthcoming tears as her nimble fingers began to twist the jerky she'd been tearing to shreds.

"Why would he do such a thing?" It explained a lot of things now. As the alpha of their little trio, Mica's permanent resignation from any fight involving her was detrimental to their position in the pack altogether. It meant she was so far beyond him that he wouldn't waste his time challenging her authority. It was the highest honor of devotion, saved for those you revered above all others, family and friend alike, and while Clary was honored that he had renounced his position to her, she was not sure what exactly she had done to deserve it.

Nothing had changed. Between them, with her position here, not even on the front of rebuilding her familial connection with her mother- though she doubted that movement on that front would have gotten her such a response from the Lena family.

What had she done to deserve his forfeiture?

Well...

Vianey _**had**_ claimed her.

Was that really enough to deny himself his position of power? Somehow the idea seemed silly to her that she might sacrifice her standing in society so that Jonathan could marry a girl of lesser breeding, but that was how it appeared now to her.

Author's note:

There ya' ll have it. I have no apologies, only wicked plot ahead.

Vianey. She likes girls. Anyone see that coming? I'm curious if anyone actually went and tracked down those translations. For those of you that are curious, what Vianey said in the fight between Asa and Clary, here we go:

"_**Tiegħi"**_ really is "(This/That/She/He) is mine." It's a word of ownership

_**"I se jikkastigaw kelbha tiegħi…" **_is "I will punish my own bitch"

"_**Inti tagħżel lilu matul lili, demm tiegħek?"**_ is "You choose him over me, your blood?"

"_**Nru Mica, tagħha. Imħabba tiegħi, biss tiegħi."**_ Is "No Mica, ( her/ my understanding is that this is also an ownership, like _Tiegħi_, like she owns it, it belongs to her ). My love, my only."

The whole thing with Mica boils down to accepting Clary. One way or another, she's going to be his sister in law, and by this sign of acceptance, he's making her transition into the werewolf pack easier.

Next up, a diversion to Jonathan _**(yay) **_and all the shit going down his way.

Hopefully this progresses faster than it has been, but I'll see what I can do. Work is short staffed and I've been pulling long hours and will be until I've trained more people D:

I also feel like I ought to apologize for jumpiness of this chapter. Timeline ends at about 2 weeks into their month countdown, and I would have had to stretch out a fourth chapter, which I just didn't feel like trying.

_**Liked it? Share the Love.**_

_**Review, Recommend, Fave, or Follow**_

_**I would really like to hear from everyone!**_

_**Til next time**_

_** TAORII  
**_


	17. I Spoke to God Today

His blood sizzled, burning so hot that he could pretty much instantly forget the needle still in his arm, and the realities that did not affect his person became so far beneath his notice that it was like he was blind entirely.

There was much more blood then there had been last time. Whose bright idea had it been to bleed him out _**before **_shooting him up with angel's blood? If he got out of this, he was going to disembowel them. There was no greater agony that he had ever endured, and there was no comfort here, only endless torment. He would see to it that whoever had done this to him would find an excruciating end.

He could have endured this better with Clary, he realized somewhere in his subconscious. He would have held her, and she would have whispered that it was all going to be all right, and it would be because the world moved to make her happy.

_**He **_moved to make her happy.

Jonathan's hand caught at flesh, trying to drag whoever it was closer. Perhaps anyone could soothe him...

He heard harsh murmurs, and knew it was could only be his father who had held his arm down this time, and the contact did nothing for him as the man turned to brush his hair from his brow, the bed jerking up hard enough that his displacement nearly made him ralf as yet another wave of nausea took him, and his father used his momentary defenselessness to pull his arm free from the clawing hand that had captured his forearm. He must have asked him something, but Jonathan couldn't muster enough care to respond or formulate a well thought out response. A moment later and the man had him rolled onto his stomach and all the lights went out in the room as the door shut tight, signaling that he was again left alone to his fate.

Nothing else mattered, he tried to convince himself; everything he endured would be worthwhile, as soon as this injection settled. His Loneliness... His Agony... His looming Darkness... It would all settle the moment the angelic blood tore its way through him and sedated his true nature.

But it never settled; only simmering away his sanity until nothing else remained but his insanity. Jonathan felt like retching. He wasn't entirely sure he hadn't.

Pressing his face into the coolness the pillow offered, he inhaled raggedly, trying to find any trace of her he could in hopes that she might reach through the great distance between them and aid his recovery, but nothing remained of his little sister, only darkness.

At least all of the lights had gone out. He had little patience to toy with, and even less of his concentration. The only thing he could think of was his departing clarity, of Clary, and the fire that would soon consumed him, of the dizzying spells of nausea that it brought on which was threatening to take him away from shore, and hope, pray, that the end was at least merciful as it took him over.

Struggling, his eyes opened, trying to catch hold of any shadow of the man that insisted he persevere, that he not pass away without his permission. Why did he suffer so? Surely his father knew how much pain he was in, what he allowed himself to be put under for his approval? Perhaps the man would stick it through this time, if no other reason than because he was his son and he was in need. Somehow, he knew he was lying to himself.

Valentine didn't care about himself, and he didn't care about Jonathan.

The only person that his father had ever cared about had been his sister.

She was the sun.

And like the sun, no happiness would touch him here.

_**The sun was gone. **_

_**He was done for.**_

Closing his eyes again, he screamed into his pillow, knowing no one would have heard him anyway.

_**XOX**_

Maryse had spent most of her days pacing. There was little to be seen of Valentine, and even less of his son. The disappearance of his daughter, adopted sons and her own children had worried her far less than the well- being of those that they had left back home.

She saw the decline into chaos, and in truth it was hard not to. She doubted that many hadn't seen the drastic decline of the household, but Valentine always had done his damnedest to be secretive of his personal life when it came to most people. The truth was that Morgenstern household was going to hell in a hand basket, and the noose was tied swiftly around her own neck too, and she was sure the drop would be quick and short. She ought to leave, to look for the lost youth that had once wandered these halls carelessly, but to do so would undoubtedly sign the death warrant of all that lived here. Someone had to keep the peace, someone that knew what exactly was crawling around in the crypts, so to speak, and so she remained, quiet and vigilant, despite every instinct that demanded that she flee. Someone had to keep Valentine from murdering his son.

The door opened, and the woman pushed away from the wall, drawing closer as a pale man stepped out into the hall, blood smeared down his front from his neck down his right arm where he still held a blade haphazardly. She couldn't help but eye it; it had been so long since Valentine had gone out to battle himself that she had difficulty recalling how much blood on his chest marked someone's death. He didn't even seem aware that she was there let alone the drench of crimson that weighed his shirt down.

"Valentine... is he-?" She could not help it, she had to know. Reaching out, Maryse tried to stall him, her fingers catching the loose fabric at his elbow. Her lover shouldered past her roughly, barely noticing that she cried out in surprise, nor that blood had gushed out over her hand when she touched his sleeve.

It was still warm.

"He has a fever. See that the door isn't disturbed."

"How much did you give him this time?" She couldn't control the accusation that leaked into her tone as she turned after the man as he took his leave. He didn't seem to have heard her, and after a moment, Maryse thought about stopping over and trying to halt him, or rushing into the boy's room to check on him herself, but checked herself. Instead she tried to settle the rage that began to build under the surface, to mask it before she turned him away from her for good, despite how much she was disgusted by what was going on in his household. Her tongue could not be swayed, however, not like her heart, "There has been no evidence that more of that _**damn**_ concoction has done _**anything**_-"

"If you have need of me I will be in the cellar."

She could have kicked herself. It would be days now before the man came back out of his own accord. Falling back, the dark haired woman resigned herself to remain at his son's room, and wiped the bloody hand along the thigh of her skirt with a wince. She'd have to find a way into the room to change his bed clothes if he had really bled that much…

Or maybe it wasn't his blood at all. Perhaps from the beast downstairs, or from his father? Had Jonathan attacked Valentine? She hadn't seen any cuts but that didn't mean much; the man always had carried himself well.

The whole idea terrified her.

Perhaps it was best that she simply remain and wait out the circumstances in the room. It seemed the safest of options before her.

_**XOX**_

Lying back against the mound of soft and inviting pillows, the pale boy let his bruised eyelids fall over even darker eyes regardless of the lack of sleep he knew he would find in the haunting silence of his bedroom. It had been days since sleep found him, and weeks now since he had slept through the night and he desired to cling to the memory of what was slowly fading from his tired body.

Not that he deserved a full night's sleep. Clary was still absent from their home, and Jace had been sent off after her. And he himself, her actual blood brother, who wanted nothing but his sister, to have her all to himself, what had he done?

_**Nothing**_. He'd lain in bed for almost two weeks, sick as a dog. Even when he had the strength to go running after her as the other boys of the household had, he hadn't, instead choosing to remain here crying like the little bitch he was.

His father had tried to help him in the only way he had ever known how, and it hadn't worked. How could it, it never had in the _**first place**_. It was a placebo for his family to believe in, but one that his father believed in wholeheartedly after delving into it himself and seeing the changes it wrought in his own person. There was never a real benefit to his taking it, except that it incapacitated him with the worst nausea and dizzy black out spells imaginable, which, he _**supposed**_, was a benefit in the by- gone days where he once attacked people with no control.

Now, his skin crawled like bugs had skipped beneath the surface somehow and he longed to stab them silent with anything he could get his hands on, the flesh scathing hot and dry enough that it seemed it might peel away when he clawed at it in his desperation for peace. The sensation was rendering him mad, he convinced himself, more so than the lack of Clary and Jace, his angelic deliverance from the wickedness that would have laid him to waste by now. They were the only things to have ever brought him an iota of peace, not some syringe chock full of some poor angel's blood that his father had been keeping on ice for the occasion that he lost himself.

Truthfully, he was going through withdrawal and he knew it, somewhere in the clouded depths of his mind that understood peace and could follow trains of thought down winding alleys and not bludgeon them to death before their point of destination was made apparent to him, but he could not wrap his head around the concept now. Instead of despairing, he closed his eyes and felt the pulsing throb of blood along his heated flesh, the crawling beneath it all as it consumed him and burned him alive for what he found himself desiring to do to people he ought to care for, ought to love, should have earned him a one way ticket to hell.

But Jonathan did not love, did not understand the concept of the feeling, and though he desired the returned feeling in others, he could not emulate it, let alone produce it. He had tried for Clary, how he had tried to be a better brother than instinct demanded he be, and he had tried his damnedest not to defile her in the way his blood demanded, the way he had with Jace instead, because she was his sister and it was inappropriate, regardless of what his nature insisted.

How he would tear into her now if he got the chance, though. It was enough to make him sick. Well, sicker than he was, anyway.

Turning to the bedside table, he found them there again, haunting him, and the hollowness in his gut tightened painfully and he had to close his eyes against the sensation before it made him throw up as the case of syringes reflected light over his face like a beacon. He still couldn't bring himself to do it on his own, ever defeated by something that an infant would have been able to take on with the right motivation, and he had it. Shoot up, or face the consequences and side effects. Take in what destroyed him, or let the wickedness run its course.

A noise out in the hall roused his attention, his hand shooting to his forehead as the romping noise of feet pounding became like a bass drum on rapid fire poised bed side. Why hadn't anyone come to check up on him? Surely Alec... Isa... Maryse?

He was being nothing but hopeful; he already knew there was no one that remained in the house that cared anything for his well- being, but perhaps a misdirected servant-

What _**was **_his father telling everyone that had kept them all away, kept away the light? It was endlessly dark in his room, an accomplishment indeed because of the wide windows and the numerous people that were careless of where they wandered about. Somehow, despite the agony it brought him, he missed the feeling of daylight, the warmth of something brighter than he was, illuminating the pain until all that remained was hardened outlines of all the cracks and flaws that made him one Jonathan Christopher Morgenstern.

And he _**was**_ broken, broken beyond belief. He knew it, everyone else knew it too. How could he deny it when all it took to defeat him was to take away a single person, and somehow they'd managed to steal away four? No wonder his father hadn't even been in to see him, he was deplorable, _**weak**_. This very well might be the death of him.

The door dividing his and Clary's room shut with a muted thud, and his face turned towards the sound, expecting to see no one, but responsive none the less. The floor board creaked, the familiar errrre- ehhtt of the wood beneath aged carpet too good to be true. Hopelessly eager, the sound wrought him tight and excited almost, breathless as his eyes shot open so they might catch some sight of his delicate sister despite all of the unreasonable likelihood of her being here when only hours before she had not been, and had been absent for practically months. Still, the idea of her arrival had him responsive, and her absence made his heart ache all the more when the reality came crashing down around him.

Dipping down around him, the mattress's edge gave way to a flighty, small weight as it settled beside his feet rather quickly. He should have known whoever it was would touch him, would be unable to withhold their curiosity, and who could blame them? He was gorgeous, albeit cold in his beauty. He was not Clary who offered the world a slice of her happiness, to glow brightly for any and all to see. He had closed himself off, forbade anyone from seeing anything but the monster he was becoming.

Clary was his only exception.

She saw a sweetness in him that no one else could. Sometimes, he wondered if she imagined it, since no one else could see it but her, but surely there had to be something human left in him. He felt something for his sister that was equally returned.

He simply had to try harder with Jace however. His consistent puppy- like nature got him kicked more often than not, but it wasn't Jace's fault. He wanted his elder brother's affection. It was just too bad that Jonathan's heart had only enough emotions to fake for one.

The hand never came. Were they content to just gaze upon him? He knew he didn't have that strength of will, but could someone else?

Cold, wet pressure settled over his brow, and his eyes shot open again, unseeing in the darkness despite the closeness of the other person. He had no idea who he expected to see. Hope had filled him, albeit fleetingly, for a moment that it had been his sister, the gesture of care uncanny for her, and she often cared for him this way when he was ill, delicately brushing his pale locks from his brow much like his father had before.

A voice reached him faster than his eyes had sought the being out, sweet like sugar with a grating undertone, like the female's throat had something tightening her voice, "He's killing you. Why must you trust him so?"

Ah_**. His wild counterpart**_. Instead of his delicate doll of a sister, the oriental heathen was there to mock him, a grim expression tugging her angular face down as she regarded him almost haughtily, her thick lips puckered in something that appeared to be a sneer, her dark eyes lingering on the needle still protruding from his forearm moments before her fingers brushed the penetration. _**How long had that been there?**_ He had no doubt that his father had been the one to dose him this time, but he had no recollection of the event, and that worried him. She'd returned again to him too. Hadn't he made himself clear the last time she had invited herself into his room? Perhaps not. He would have to make damn sure to push the point better this time.

"You will kill yourself if you don't stop this nonsense soon. You _**must **_know this by now."

"He's my father. I will respect his knowledge. Helene-"

"Aline." She corrected shortly, leaning over him again. Her stubby hands were everywhere, rubbing short waves along his face in a wild search pattern as she memorized ever rise and fall to the hard edges of his pain. She didn't disgust him like he had anticipated, but she wasn't Clary either.

Pulling her long skirts up, she tucked them to the apex of her legs, the long lengths a caramel almond color that seemed to compliment his pitch black bed spread as she crawled along the covers to his side.

Whose clothing was she wearing? In the few moments he'd crossed paths with her, she seemed beyond proud of her heritage, and here she was wearing a flowing dress, tight like a band at her breast and loose flowing about her ankles so that perhaps eight of her might have fit inside and had room to move about. It was fairly Greek in design, with the offset sleeves hanging halfway down her biceps and the high empire style waist right below the tight, bejeweled banding at her breasts.

"That's not yer dress." he managed to mumble out, turning away from her as she crawled over him so that she leaned over his prone form. It was all the conversation he could manage, the only civility he could find in himself, and he found himself confronted the moment he turned, the girl throwing herself on top of him so that she straddled his hips.

"It is now. Do you like it?"

"Doesn't matter."

Because it didn't. _**She**_ didn't. All that mattered was still Clary, and where the hell had she gone; this girl was merely a distraction and not even a good one. He had to be able to come up with something better than this.

It was at least a damn good measure of how crazy he was, to be sure.

Her hand delicately touched his face hesitantly, brushing aside a lock of hair that fell too much across his face for her liking with calloused fingertips before pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "It_** ought **_to."

"You're an illusion. A figment brought on by my blood boiling away. No one could be as sinister as I, and though I appreciate the sentiment my subconscious is attempting, I'd rather prefer to wither away without the worry that another person might have to endure this, no matter how pretty my mind plays you off to be..."

_**"You think I'm pretty?!" **_there was no answer to the harsh, ecstatic whisper that rushed breathily out all at once, but she didn't really need one. Her heart was soaring higher than it ever had been.

Running her fingers along his arm, she pulled on the needle at his elbow slowly, and he cried out loud enough that her other hand rushed to hold his mouth closed before she ripped it the rest of the way out.

"Can an illusion affect you the way I have? Can it wrought pain upon your person? Pleasure?" Leaning down, her thick lashes drifted low enough that he knew what her next move would be, anticipated it really, and was prepared as her lips pressed three kisses against the corners of his lips as her hands curled in his pale hair. "Affection? They think you're dying but you need not be. If you were to allow me to summon our mother-"

"My mother cares not for me. She abandoned my sister and me years ago. How could one-"

"Not the bitch that whelped you!" She cried sharply, and her hand slammed hard against the case, knocking it from its perch. It clattered along the floor and the syringes scattered, rolling discarded where they would remain. Jonathan started up after it, only to be roughly shoved back into the mattress by the furious girl that he had long written off as weak and beneath him. Looking from the slightly clawed hand that grasped his shirt, baring him down to her face, he sneered at her, and with a sharp jerk, struck her with both hands at her shoulders. She did not move.

"Get out, now."

"No, you need me."

Perhaps she was right.

Her fingers delved along the seam of his lips, testing.

He could tolerate her, for now. Regardless of how she upset him, she was unarguably the stronger being at the moment, a rapid wolf with its teeth bared. Still, he did not desire her company. Easing his approach, the slight boy fell limp again, and turned his head away like he might feign sleep soon.

He might in fact, if she refused to leave him be. "You ought to go. I'm not feeling my best right now."

Drawing back, the slight girl sat back on her haunches and considered him for a moment, and before she spoke again, withdrew from him entirely with a swiftness that felt like he had disgusted her. He did not feel Aline move again after, and the pale haired boy cracked his eyes open after a few minutes of drawn out silence to confirm that she had not left him entirely yet. He couldn't blame her if she had, everyone else did, and he had told her to leave, hadn't he?

Instead, the girl had made a perch at the edge of his bed, leaning back in a low squat like a frog with one arm crossed over to rest on her knee and the other holding her head up as her fingers idly thrummed against the side of her face as she pondered over his situation.

"You don't _**want **_to die, do you?" There was accusation in her tone that he didn't want to face. He did so well hiding everything he felt, that it seemed unreasonable to think that someone that knew him so little might see through his façade so easily, but perhaps she knew what was inside of him on a base level; she _**was**_ his female counterpart. If anyone might understand the feelings, the urges he had, it would be her.

Opening his black eyes, he tried to give her the most leveling glare he could muster in hopes that she wouldn't see through it to the scared little boy inside, to the real answer he dreamed of uttering, _**yes, please help me. I can't do this on my own. "**_Of course_** not. Don't be ridiculous**_, I'm a Morgenstern, born to kill and raised to fight. My death will be nothing short of glorious, like the fire of a falling star._**"**_

_**Did she believe him?**_ His eyes closed and he turned away from her in dismissal. He didn't believe himself, why would she?

"All right." Her voice startled him, soft and harsh all at once. "I'll help you, Jonathan. I'll free you from your cage, and together we'll bask in the afterglow of the dying sun. You will know the taste of freedom, of the costs it will take from you to bare it."

Bringing her hand to her mouth, her eyelids fell to half mass as she bit hard into the soft tissue of her palm beneath her thumb, her entire hand clenching and trembling as her teeth sank deep into the flesh and a pulse of blood burst into her awaiting mouth, over her jaw and dripped along his mattress and he couldn't help but flinch at the cry she gave out around her quaking grasp.

She would give him her sanity, her everything. She would be his rock until he was able to fend for himself again…

The hand pressed harder against her face, and the gore pulsed out hard enough to squirt from the barely there gap between teeth and hand.

It was so much like a wounded animal that he was moving to end the suffering one way or another when her lips were on his then, her fingers lacing his alabaster hair in an intricate twist that had him wrapped around her, dizzy enough that he wasn't sure if up was up or down, with the taste of tangy, choking blood sliding across his tongue. His hands grappled to drag her back, and tug her closer all at once, and with a very feral growl, bit his bottom lip as he shifted far enough from her that their noses didn't bump.

"Don't fight me…"

Jonathan didn't know if he had the strength to do anything but obey.

_**XOX**_

"How are you?"

Opening his eyes groggily against the bleariness of sleep, Jonathan glanced to the wild child that had made yet another costume change, or rather, a strip down, as all that remained were the filmy slips that had aided the dress's puffiness. Her hair had been pulled back out of her face in a low gathering, though it appeared she'd probably just plaited it to keep it tidy while she lay down beside him, as the left side of her gathering was mussed. Raising his hand to his eyes, he gauged his judgement in vision, as well as falling asleep next to someone he knew fewer facts about than he had fingers to count them on.

**_One,_** her blood tasted like insanity, or what he assumed only insanity could taste like, as he had no other to compare it to, only the feeling that swelled beneath the surface the moment her life force touched his lips.. And

"Better. I can see clearly now, at the very least."

**_Two,_** she was Nephilim and Demon- borne, the same culmination of self righteous and wicked as he was, just as she had said from the very beginning. There were runes littering her arms, bruised looking scars that looked infected and would never return to even flesh again where a stele had touched down, boring deeper and uglier than it might on someone pure. This should have put him to ease, knowing that at long last someone understood him and how he felt.

"Do you trust me?" Aline whispered airily, her hands already at his back to help him to rise one way or another.

"No."

**_Three,_** her obsession with him made him uneasy. There was something about her that reminded him of a wild, rabid beast that he just could not shake. She played well at being civil, however, and the closeness she seemed to manage with a few well placed bats of her thick lashes and pouty lips had him counting the ways he could take her down as she changed positions around him.

"Good. You'd be a fool to trust so easily." She laughed, the dark smile spreading from her lips to her eyes as she ducked her head against his shoulders, and her tiny hands fisted in his bed clothes. "You will follow your best instincts then, I suppose, and know it is in your _**best**_ interest to humor me, at the very least."

Nodding numbly, Jonathan rose on his own will, and her hands quickly grappled to support him as he wavered only a moment as he tried to wave her off. If anything he was not weak enough to fall upon the help of a girl, and it seemed that Aline got the point quick enough to keep her head.

Grandiosely, the pale boy flourished his arm out as he took a mock bow and again, the edgy girl shook her head at his obvious condescension, _**"Ladies **_first."

With a huff, she gathered herself and passed him with an exasperated stomp to her feet, "Oh you _**really**_ don't trust me. Think I would pull a blade to your back at first chance?"

His breath was at her ear in the next moment, hot and heavy as a sharp point pricked her spine right below her pin straight hair. Testing ts sharpness after he pressed her forward, Aline leaned back and forced the blade in his hand to pierce her dark flesh, drawing enough blood that she held still, "And you don't expect the same of me? You really_** ought **_to re-examine our relationship, _**pet."**_

Turning faster than he expected, her fist darted out longer than he expected, thwacking against the slight bulge in his throat as the other hand went for the seraph blade, and with a quick twist with carefree hands, she had it wrenched from his hands and tossed as far across the room from him as she could while he was still disarmed, gasping for breath as she stepped smartly away. "No, _** I **_would expect you to kill at first chance, and if that did not pay off, you would hold off and wait for opportunity to strike. I would expect you to_** deceive. **_That is our nature, and I will try my best to remember that the heavenly mask you wear to deceive is concealing the darkness of abyss and bone, and all of the wickedness in which it deals."

Unarmed, she still appeared threatening now that he'd made his play, and she kept her arms raised and between them, ready to strike out if she needed to again like a cornered feline. _**She played demure well,**_ Jonathan realized as he stood upright, gauging the distance from himself to his knife near the fireplace and the door behind him that led to the hallway, _**but she was slowly peeling away the mask she herself wore, exposing the maliciousness behind the exotic and peaceful face.**_

Jerking her chin to the side, the girl dared to order him off, and they had a short bout of stubbornness that promised a stand off that might last all night before the female threw her hands in the air with a shriek, and stormed off, "Stay, or come, or rot, I just don't care anymore."

Smirking, Jonathan darted back to retrieve the blade before leisurely following her, his fingers stroking along the prickled edge of the handle in his grip as he went. Funny how girls always said one thing when they very well meant the opposite. She was dragging her feet running off.

_**Drama queen**_.

_**XOX**_

The pace she set was fast and fleeting, darting this way and that through the thicket of trees that had begun but a few feet from the edge of their family's home but had taken him far from anywhere his feet had ever touched before. It was deep dark out in the pasture, but darker than he had ever imagined once they got deep into the forest, that he found himself groping after the tiny girl he was barely managing to track. Barefoot, she was steady and strong while he was crippled in a way that an adult might look at an infant bumbling around, and his many stumbles had her irritable.

More than once she had fallen back to help him to his feet as she dragged him through Brocelind Forest in search of something only she seemed to see.

"Xu nee!" Her hand shot up, halting their progress with a rap against his chest as they neared the edge of a clearing. He understood her meaning and fell behind her to look in on the open field from behind the bark she had stopped short behind.

A wild boar stood near the apex of the clearing, truffling, perhaps, unaware of their arrival. It was noisy, but had separated off from whatever herd it might have had. Jonathan chopped it off to wanting to be found eventually, despite whatever predators might have been in the fore-

_**Oh.**_

The realization hit him hard as Aline's hand slapped him again, this time over his shoulder, shaking him. _**They**_ were the predators.

_**"Kill it."**_

"What?'

"You want to feel better? You need to kill that thing for yourself. There's nothing in this world that will control you the way that _**you can **_once you've seized control of your own flesh from those that have been puppeteering your entire existence."

Glancing between her and the beast, he decided to obey

"Not with THAT!" she snatched the blade away from him with a sharp hiss, before it dropped to the grass like it had burned her. It had only been in her palm but for a second or two but it had been enough to raise her flesh to a brilliant red swell that she hid from his curious gaze.

It _**had **_burned her. The irritation had been present in his own use of the instruments, but he'd never been damaged by them so effectively. Was there a chance that, _**perhaps, **_she was wrong and they were not the same? Squelching the train of thought with a shake of his head, Jonathan turned to glance back at the beast that had turned its attention back to grazing and not the impending danger that its predators possessed.

If not precise, they were similar, shattered from what had been meant to be the same mold. She understood him in a way his father, his sister, and his to be Parabatai could not comprehend.

His feet were uneasy as he placed distance between them, unsure of what exactly he was doing. How would he kill something roughly his own size with nothing but his own fists? Runes were ideal, but his stele had been left with his gears back in his room.

Crouching down, his approach stalled as the wild pig grew suspicious again and turned its attention back to Aline, pinning her down as the moving threat as she stepped closer as well, circling around its front.

Her black eyes found his, and a smirk pulled at her thick lips before she charged forward at it, forcing its retreat right to him. With an accuracy that surprised even him, he fell at it, halting its progress as he shoved it back from its escape with enough force to land it on its side as he knelt over it, grounding it it into the earth with all of the might of his forearms.

With a few sharp bucks, the boar had him unseated from its back, managing to get a good kick at his side as it escaped before Jonathan managed to seize its neck again and slammed it hard back into the ground. Raising up, he swung back over it as it jerked hard against him, determined to find the freedom that it had lost as the slightly larger boy pinned it down entirely, finding the vantage point behind its shoulders to quell any real threat of it slipping again. His fists pounded hard and fast then, bludgeoning as he bore down on the beast hard enough that the neck and then the skull snapped like a coconut against a rock, splurging blood the third strike after he had broken the beast's crown with no resistance to protect its flimsy insides.

The euphoria had taken him hard enough that despite the creatures demise, he could not still his arms. Something primal in him demanded _**more **_and the unsuspecting creature had only offered him a taste. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the pulse of blood still surging from the head, and without a second thought, swiped his arm across his face as if to wipe away the work of a hard day's work just as the understanding that the dying animal's blood coated up to his forearms, if not his face. The smell of it surrounded him, metallic and heavy enough to drown him. He breathed in deep, testing, tasting. There was something else here, something unknown but not necessarily unwelcome.

Clarity, he realized. _**He felt nothing again. **_Everything in him screamed for remorse, for repentance, for upset, for anything, but there was nothing he could give but exhaustion. His arms fell to his sides without resistance as his head lulled back, his eyes shutting softly as he tried to find the shreds of humanity he once covered himself in before abandoning them for this peace.

Aline was beside him in an instant, her long thin arms wrapping him in what felt like a heartless affection that he defined with obsession, though he knew she was proud of him. His eyes opened, catching sight of the ecstatic pleasure that had seized her as his name rolled over her lips.

He had finally pleased _**someone. **_The feeling had been absent for so long that he grabbed hold of it,_** of her**_, and his arms took her closer, his nails biting into the flesh of her biceps as he dragged her tiny form closer, unaware or uncaring of the gore he forced her to kneel in.

With a laugh, she slapped him playfully, her warm fingers smearing blood across his face from his sharp cheek bone down over his lips to his chin where the back of his hand rose to catch it and rub it away. He seemed disgusted by the act, but she pressed on with her own agenda regardless, forcing one of her bloody digits into his mouth. Her lips were after them moments later, kissing away the smear she had left as if she was cleaning up after herself.

"The first kill is always the sloppiest, but the most fulfilling. Do you taste it? _**Fear. **_Next time, I doubt it will know what is happening. You will wait a long time before you will be able to play with your prey again."

It did remind him of fear, of adrenaline, somehow.

His eyes fixed on the bloody red that stained his hand as his fingertips dragged over her pale lips, tugging them away from even paler teeth beneath as her smile fell away. Almost anxiously, she leaned away, and the gesture made his heart race in away she hadn't before.

"What? Jonathan?"

His lips were on hers again, and the nervous hands that had made their home at his collar fisted in response as she relaxed in his hold, accepting his will as her own with a sigh.

He was right, they weren't made of the same mold. He was _**stronger... Smarter... Faster...**_

_**Better.**_

With a sharp jerk, he slammed the small girl against the hard ground, her head rebounding as the cracking noise dulled itself in the dirt. Instantly, she was out, an unsuspecting puddle melting over his lap and across the ground, her arms wayward where they had fallen on their own.

_**And she was more than likely still responsible for his little sister's disappearance.**_

Snarling, he got up off the ground with the determination to end the bitch here and now that he had the strength but the knowledge that he couldn't without dragging what she might know from the loose tongue she chose to keep.

_**XOX**_

_**She was as she always was, always the sweetest and most lovely creature **_

There was a time once when he couldn't stand her, and now Jonathan lived and breathed her very existence. Her absence would be the death of him, regardless of the age- old adage claiming otherwise.

Weakly, Jonathan drew himself up, shaking to his bones with an unknown chill only he was experiencing. He could feel her,_** he always could,**_ smiling down on him but this time it was different. Sad, almost.

_**Disappointed.**_

Looking over to the plush chair near the fire where she used to perch herself alight on the stuffed arm's edge, he found the visage he had thought he had long lost.

Sitting lightly on the curved arm, her legs crossed at the knee, she slumped forward as she filled her time waiting for him to wake patiently, busying herself with the Carrickmacross lace edge of her dress. The bodice was white along the heart shaped neckline and faded into the baby blue gently, the paleness illuminating the lightly sun kissed flesh of her breasts with cyan, silver and gold embroidered flowers that danced along the edges, and at her natural waist where the lace began, they gathered in a wondrous bouquet, sending the ivy pattern down into the intricate lace stem by stem so that the lace appeared a viney mass of brambled flowers, and her fingers stroked down each winding thread to her knee before beginning again, worshiping the art in the worn dress like no one else would have. The motion of her hands was all that he could watch, for it was the only thing he could read from her with her hair so in her face. They did not shake, but were not easy either; they were continuously stroking, giving him _**nothing **_as idleness was replaced by busy hands keeping her entertained as she waited, patient or not.

He had to look elsewhere to pinpoint exactly what was different about her. It had been such a very long time since she had last come to him that he didn't know what to look at first; her beautiful garnet hair? Her eyes would be choice but she hid them so effectively from him. What of her mouth, then? He could see the edges of it as she murmured something to herself. _**Speak, sing…**_ anything… He couldn't stand the silence from her, the quiet He knew he was beginning to forget the smallest pieces of her that he had carved out in his memories and it horrified him. His pulse was starting to rise as panic took him by surprise.

What had she smelled more like, irises or lilies? Had her eyelashes been like their mother's_** like his **_or their father's and how did the pitch change in her laughter again, when it was true rather than when it was forced? He never wanted to lose his baby sister, not even a second worth of his memory of her.

His toes curled into the plush red carpet as he forced his legs into motion. He was shaky on his feet, but he was determined to meet her where she waited for him.

"_**Come on**_, Jonathan." Her voice was impatient and had she been a lesser creature, perhaps something other than her foot swaying out a tap would have been further indication to her raising ire, but she was who she was, calm and collected because this wasn't worth her real upset, and sometimes he missed that passionate wrath that once consumed her. Now she was too complacent. "We'll be late as is. If you planned on sleeping in this late why didn't you pull any clothes for yourself ahead of time?"

Sleepily his hand dragged across his brows, as his direction turned away and towards the armoire off in the other corner, the door already open like someone had rifled through his clothes, "You normally put together my outfits for me, remember? You and I both know my fashion sense is abysmal."

"You'll have to learn to make do. You're a grown boy now, Jonathan. _**Nearly sixteen**_, and I refuse to be your old maid of a sister assembling your day to day attire indefinitely."

Sliding from her perch, the delicate fabric of her skirts rode up to expose the pale, delicate columns of her thighs, and though she modestly crossed her legs before she flashed him all the way, he had seen enough for her to damn him. He knew those legs after all, could paint them from memory if he wished, down to the heart shaped freckle beside her left knee and the birth mark it seemed to trickle down from, the pale shape raised and pink on her hip reminding him of an anchor or a double bladed hook, and for certain he'd been ensnared by it.

He had something similar on his right shoulder but it only made sense. His grandmother had once told them that birthmarks were unfulfilled wishes or desires that the mother had made while pregnant, and surely their mother had many if she could abandon her children so early in life. Jonathan hadn't grown suspicious until he saw the same mark that graced Clary on Jace's bicep, albeit clearer like whoever had marked the golden eyed boy had done it fresh with a blade and Clary's had been rushed and smudged, like a burned branding.

She caught his gaze, and her wicked little smirk brightened at his expression of enthrallment, and that pissed him off. They both knew they were so far passed modesty that it was but a blurp on the distant horizon, like a spot of ink splattered on pristine paper, like a star in the night. The vixen was on her feet in the next moment, her hands still fisting her skirt flush to her thighs as if it would help his attention draw elsewhere, but it only strengthened his determination to see her out of it, the fabric leaving so little to the imagination as it fit her closer still that he found himself staring harder at the flash of thigh she bared.

Her warm hands caught at his face, the lengthy digits trembling slightly as they brushed his hard cheekbones, and her bruised lids fell to half mass as her forehead pressed against his. Jonathan's eyes remained hard on her face, tracing over all the lines of her face as if he could memorize her one last time. Her voice was so soft and broken that he almost missed it altogether, and he clung harder to her, desperate to take this in too, regardless of how heartbreaking she might be in her current mood.

"How could you let yourself fall so far?" There was pain in her voice he hadn't expected, and her hands gathered his hair, petting and pulling in an altogether soothing and upsetting fashion that he doubted anyone else but his baby sister could achieve. "What have they done to you?"

Catching sight of himself in the mirror, the boy had to take a double take. What had happened to him, indeed? This reflection was not the same boy she had left behind.

_**XOX**_

Trudging along behind his sister down the hall, Jonathan found himself staring again, dissecting. Something was not right with the younger Morgenstern, and he couldn't put his finger on the problem. Was she happy, was she sad? Did she lace her corset too tight again, or was the dress too wrinkled for her liking? He was normally so good at pinpointing her mood, but Clary had effectively blocked every one of his attempts to clarify what exactly had upset her. It wasn't until she had pulled her hand from his twice that he realized for certain that it was indeed upset that had struck him nervous.

"I can't believe you just let them all run around unkempt." Her hand gave his a sharp squeeze for a reprimand before they tried tearing away again before his fingers caught hers in an ensnaring trap, churning his hand in her own as he manipulated the smaller palm back against his so that he had the illusion of control again. Jonathan would allow her temper for now, if it meant he could continue touching her all the while longer. The warmth of her skin raised the hairs on his arms as she brushed against his side, but he felt eased again by her presence that he couldn't find a way to care. Clary was here again, he had his sister back. "You know that most of them couldn't find their way out of a broom closet."

Snorting, he rolled his eyes as he took the lead, dragging her behind him, "I told you I took ill-"

"And so much good it did everyone, having you out of the picture, _**didn't it?**_ Man up, Jonathan you are a _**Morgenstern**_, for Raziel's sake! _**Act like it**_. You think I am at my best? No, I just know how to play the game better than the flock out there. I know that a pretty face is all they want to see until I can prove otherwise. So you need to straighten up, and show the rubble their places less you lose _**yours beside me**_."

Bitterly, the palm that fit in his tore away, and he got a good look at the upset in her face as her thick lashes lowered to half mass over the emerald eyes that burned at him. She looked furious, and if he couldn't tell by her expression, he found the definitive proof in the hard clicks of her heels and the jerk of her body as she stomped away from him down the hall.

"I don't want to lose you, Clary-"

Spinning around, her garnet curls flew behind her as she gave him the most leveling upset expression he could remember ever having twisted her face. She was never upset with him, never, yet somehow, he had managed it by his inactivity. Her head shook, sending the ringlets back over her shoulders as the crumpled forward and her face skewed up, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed as she cried, "_**Then prove it! **_To them… to him… to me…"

Exasperated, her hands flew up into the air before she abandoned him once more, stomping down the hall with only half a hope to chase after her let alone catch her.

When she wanted to be, Clary was damn evasive, and there were panels that ran along that she had explored hundreds of times over with the other children that he had overlooked in the stead of books, leaving the play to those that were carefree. It worked most times in his favor, but now. Now, he had to bolt after the quickly fading flourish of her skirt, hoping that it wouldn't disappear all together.

_**XOX**_

Author's note:

I'm sorry for the delay. I have not abandoned this story. It just took me a long time settling on how I wanted to how the slow descent into Chaos, and where to cut, and how to progress certain aspects. At times I felt like dragging out parts to tie them together, but quickly abandoned several of them as things weren't coming across to my editor as smoothly as I would like. May come back to this chapter to round it out later, but not at this moment.

I have a general idea of how the next few chapters will play out (Which is more than I can say for this chapter as far as planning goes.) Hoping to get a few chapters that will run half progression with Jonathan, and then half with Clary and CO.

This next grouping of titles come from Five Finger Death Punch's song "Wrong Side of Heaven," which struck me from first hearing the song on the radio as entirely Jonathan Morgenstern.

I would like to thank my readers for their continued support despite the lack of update as well.

Liked it? Have something to say? Follow, Fave, Review

Share the love.

I love hearing from all of you.

Until next time

JA NE  
~ I~


	18. And She Said That She's Ashamed

The door opened just slow enough that he caught sight of it settling shut again, and diving forward, Jonathan wrenched it out of his sister's hold only to shatter her slowly mending hurt, and with a small cry, she rapped him hard on the shoulder before punching lower to get the point across, "Have you _**any idea**_ where we are?!"

In fact, he hadn't. He was so absorbed in the chase that he hadn't the foggiest where he had fallen into or what he had interrupted. Turning from the fair beauty of his younger sister, he felt heat rise to his ears and the desire to crawl under a rock became fiercer than the upturned glares he was absorbing like a tree.

The council room, _**in session**_.

It was not as full as it could have been or should have been, but there were many well distinguished members of the enclave here, and of the dissolved Circle that he could pick out with a passing glimpse. Those that had stood beside his father had been rewarded well by the man as he rose to power similar to that of a dictator. A beaky black haired man stood at podium with his father, obviously dictating the _'lawfulness' _of whatever they were discussing, and a third, nervous looking man with a hard twitch that refused to quite meet his gaze long enough that Jonathan was still rather uncertain what color the irises were.

Never one to admit defeat, Jonathan firmly shut the door behind him, not bothering to mute the droning boom as it hit home in the threshold before he began his decent into figurative hell, down the amphitheater style stairs towards the ever expectant figures of his life.

"Consul Malachi, Master Starkweather." the familiarization of the only two he dared to name had an upstart in the seated official and a fairly relaxed response in the other. Hodge seemed to melt back into his scribbling of the meeting, settled in the only way that a scholar could be, and it was the end of his nervous, flitting gaze.

The man should have taken the path of knowledge and betterment, but instead had chosen to remain beside his father in what ought to have been a marvelous show of support. What Valentine had paid him to do so, Jonathan had never figured out, nor would he ask. He himself would have taken the books instead of whatever it was he exactly did.

Malachi had always set him on edge, something about his black gaze reminding him of a snake or a vulture intent on tailing its prey until it met its untimely demise. One day, he supposed he would simply get used to the two of them and their individual antics of manipulation.

Or perhaps, get rid of them entirely. The idea didn't seem entirely bad. It was easier to understand the dead, at any rate.

Turning to address his father more directly, his feet dragged him forward down the steps in the path that he should have worn out by now to his seat somewhere around the front side nosebleeds of the auditorium._** "Father**_."

After all, he didn't care to see the imbeciles that convened here. He wanted to _**hear**_ them, to bend them away from what he saw as lost causes. His presence away yet among them put them off guard often, and served his uses to manipulate them to his own desires. Most times, he doubted that they ever knew they were pawns.

Valentine was as pale as a ghost and shaken as if he had seen one as his eldest child started into the conclave's council meeting and took his seat in the shadows which had set him close enough to his father's on the dais that he could see his throat hitch but far enough that he couldn't hear it. The petulant boy had thrown himself down, perching regally with his legs crossed daintily before him as his sister was known to do, and his hands busied themselves with an unseen bit of fuzz on his pant leg rather than look amongst those he'd interrupted. The pose was enough to shake him, but the smirk on his son's face, the disheveled, thrown together outfit he had managed to slip on before barging in here, was almost indignant; it made their family appear weaker. Leaning into an open hand, the boy's pale fingers thrummed against his ghastly white temple as he regarded his father just as much as his sire regarded him.

His attendance, while not needed, wasn't necessarily unwelcome by the Shadow hunters present. While he was still too young to be a heard voice amongst his peers, he'd been sitting in on the gatherings for several months before Clary had disappeared, though he'd fallen away from coming after she her absence had shaken the entire family, becoming nothing more than a recluse. His reappearance had the entire Conclave in an uproar, and murmurs had seized the entire room.

_**What had caused his sudden reappearance?**_

They could both hear it, the mutterings of excitement, of intrigue, of _**worry**_. It had been nearly months since any of the Morgenstern household's children had made an appearance, let alone an attempt to sit in on the important meetings that the enclave held, and once Jonathan _**had**_ emerged, it was of a significantly lower quality than what he liked to maintain.

He looked like he had rushed in half wild, perhaps with worrisome news?

Was there pressing enough news to deliver that would startle the eldest son out of his prior hiding?

The room was dizzyingly electrifying and both males silent ground themselves down with the knowledge that the other was just as uneasy over the entire situation.

Valentine's voice rose as the realization hit him as hard as it had the feverish crowds in the seats, and his face betrayed him only momentarily as he bore his eldest child down with all the hope and anxiety and rage that had passed him with a mere appearance, "Jonathan, _**what **_are you _**doing here**_? You ought to be in bed resting."

"All better. Decided to turn up and see what these imbeciles have fucked up in my absence." While he indeed felt better, he knew what his father had meant. He'd stumbled in here by accident, but he wouldn't give up the rouse that it hadn't been his intention to come. That would give away too much, would accept too low a quality of perseverance and ill upbringing. He would not shame their family in such a way. So this was the face he would wear now that they had all seen him; snide and above them all, because he was. He was a Morgenstern.

"That's hardly kind Jonathan; they can't help their ignorance, now can they?" Clary's soft voice purred as she set herself beside his calf in a sideways squat with her knees together and her heels digging into her backside, her arms folding along the length of his thigh as she laid her head against the pillow of her hands, her eyes half lidded as she looked up at him. It was a pose his sister often took, that he barely noticed his hand running over her hair and feeling nothing but air, nor the odd looks he received for reaching out over his knee to what the room saw as nothing.

"Jonathan, I-"

Cutting off his father, the boy looked up half dazed as if Clary's presence had made everything clear again. His entire body turned regally to acknowledge those he had offended the most near the stage front, all well groomed members of their society, trying to draw forth the most shocked expression he could muster as he breathed out, "Oh no offense to you lot. You're all perfectly fine imbeciles; _**I'm sure**_, capable of messing up decades of hard work... You are at least striving to do better, yes?"

A snort escaped his red haired sister, the mirth and agitation clear on her pale face as she looked skyward away from him so he couldn't see the smile drawing over her lips. The palm in her locks fell away, twisting a small knot of fabric in his hand as she clawed through the thin cloth hard enough to draw blood when she shifted to her rump, settled for the long run.

"My son is still delirious. You must excuse him ladies and gentlemen." The leveling gaze did little to deter his son, but the boy rolled his eyes before his head fell back in a mockery of slumber, the back of his hand falling against his bruised eyelids as he allowed them to continue on with their business. He could feel their uneasy gazes still on him as his father guided the conversation away from his decrepit son and on to the news that several scouts had reported to the conclave.

Pursing his lips, Jonathan tried to reign in the urge to command the direction of the discussion as he heard choice words enter the air, striking him harder with each punctuation.

There was a sense of hysteria taking control of them all. With no introduction to the topic, the adolescent male had little choice but remain silent as the information funneled to him through each outcry. Soon, everything fell into place and Jonathan found himself staring at the very real problem that had shaken everyone in the room.

Suddenly, his people found themselves cornered; their entire home land was surrounded by the hell- spawn they were born to exile and it had happened overnight. It wasn't just ten or so demon born they had stumbled upon either- the estimates were now well in the hundreds if not thousands and the confirmed numbers lurking about had only shown that the Down- worlders were gathering, and that they were brazen enough to come out of hiding without real consideration to their proximity.

Was that where his people had thought he had disappeared to, why so many gazes still darted to him in trepidation? He had known nothing, but perhaps, as Valentine's best, they had thought he had been on the advanced party?

It worried him that all of this had waited for him to fall ill before hitting.

"We ought to dredge the forest then. Push them as far back as we can. " a one- eyed Muslim woman drawled out, her head high and proud despite the way her jewelry shook visibly and her teeth grit down and her hand tightened in the cowl of her hijab. She had seen the danger of many things, Jonathan supposed. The horrendous scar over the entire left side of her face that had lost her one of her piercing eyes denounced that.

Another shadow hunter was speaking then from somewhere behind her, just as striking, just as self-assured. No one in this room thought that they knew wrong, could admit any fault. Little did they know… "You mean to retake our land, or scare them into an all- encompassing fight, Khansa?"

She bristled, driving the older Morgenstern to reign in the gathering with honest logic, "There's an unreasonably large chance that we won't be able to scour all of Brocelind Forest-"

"Then simply burn down the _**damned woods**_." Jonathan snapped over his father's cooler voice, adding more fire to the energy crackling in the air. It was so clear to him the solution to their problem. If the beasts of hell were at their door, why not send in a bit of the flames they came from to drive them back out? The only ones that needed to be considered were their own people, who should have known better than to travel so far into the woods. "We have no use for them, anyways, and the Down- worlders seem to have set up a permanent residence in our own backyard because of it. They're obviously no longer afraid of us, so the only reasonable solution is to eradicate our threat, and in turn, take from them the only place they have successfully hidden from us- _beneath our noses_."

"Lake Lyn-" someone interjected sharply from the nameless crowd at his back.

Without turning, Jonathan called out, "_**Still will remain a lake."**_

An uneasy hush settled over them then, so quiet that he could hear the collective thrum of heartbeats before one by one the raspy breaths were released.

"Those woods are protected…" came a soft voice so far to the back of the auditorium that she must have desired to go unnoticed, but this time the owner stood to give face to opinion. It was a fair woman with frizzy thick black-brown hair and steely blue eyes settled against a pinched face. Many years ago, she could have been pretty. Now, she reminded him of a sour old widow whose children had all abandoned the nest, still loving, but so bitter against the world from the atrocities she had been dealt. She shook visibly even from so far away, clutching a bit of her dress in her hands, "For good reason. We must remember that-"

"You don't know that for certain. Perhaps, you protect the abomination that wears the face of your brother, Miss Greymark-"

_**"Herondale." **_

The cry ripped out of her louder than she intended, and her hand clasped her mouth before anything else could escape, as she forced herself to collapse back into her seat.

Valentine seemed to cringe at this, but turned his attention away from the woman that seemed so familiar to Jonathan that he felt a sense of deja vu slip over him, though he could not place her. She was beneath his worry however, and he turned from her as well as she began to fume. "All in favor?"

There was a scattered murmuring that settled over the members of the enclave. Half expectantly, the youngest member of attendance had perked up to look around, her wide eyes giving her crestfallen heart break away as not a single person took her brother's offering to heart. She seemed more upset by it than he did, and the way her face shot to his abysmally, as the moments ticked by with no one to side with him in- Jonathan almost felt like he too should have been upset by this turn of events, but he wasn't.

"Denied."

It didn't surprise him, however. He half expected it. To burn down the woods was a brash move and they all knew it. Idris was practically surrounded by that damned forest and burning it down would leave them entirely open, if it didn't force the beasts it housed into their territory for a fight. They would have to be certain that no one got out and that all of the Nephilim would be safe, in Alicante or not.

Falling back into his seat, he turned his thoughts to a less brash method of attack, one that might leave less of their people in danger.

"What of a cage, then?" her voice purred softly,

"Perhaps," Jonathan called out just loud enough to rouse attention once more, "We could ensnare the beasts? Make the woods a place of death, and not of salvation."

Malachi shook his head before his father could reel him in, "Many years ago, we tried to that very thing, Master Morgenstern. You know this well. Nothing good comes from it, only death."

"So we comb the forests again. Drive the creatures back. Cut them back on their territory. Strengthen the line. Those that manage to break through are automatically neutralized. Perhaps it's time to take back what is rightfully ours, rightfully our holiest of sites. It should be the will of Raziel that it remains our foothold."

"No." the voice cut through him for a moment with its sharpness, and Starkweather found more interest in his notes again as their leader's son glared holes at the two of them. "You speak of holiness like it is our right, that our blood entitles us to His protection. But Heaven touches these lands no longer and we are now the fallen, abandoned to hell on earth, boy."

His breath caught, and he found himself sinking deeper into his chair. He had known all along that he himself was forsaken, but the rest of them? They were savable, weren't they? They were pure and good and righteous. Surely they were redeemable…

Clary, on the other hand, was fuming. How dare they deny her brother? Jonathan could feel her shaking as he drew up away from her to stand. Her hands didn't even tug at his leg as they fell to her sides. After a moment, she too rose, fiery gaze unwavering from the hole it burned in the Consul's forehead.

"Consul Dieudonne, forgive our ignorance." Her smile was controlling, but it melted the look on Malachi's contorted face. Clary_** always **_got her way, to the point that he'd stopped tallying her wins against his own years ago.

He couldn't help but stay and watch with baited breath as the taller of the three men struggled for his response, however. He wouldn't dare refuse her, would he? Jonathan couldn't remember the last time his sister had made a plea that was outright denied, for when she was denied there was usually a fair amount of concessions made for the denial and she normally managed to finagle a bit of what she wanted in the first place. The last time, it had been the Lightwood girl to rile her, and she had more or less bent to Clary's will after a few hours of tantrum and Isabelle was _**still paying **_for her last upset and the discretion was practically years old.

With a sharp grasp of his shoulder, Clary silently excused herself, turning from the auditorium like the hounds of hell were at her feet for all the hurry she took in leaving. The door made the barest of sounds, signing to him that she might have hurried from view but not from him. They both waited.

"I have over extended my welcome I see. Just remember to consider my plight- full request, gentlemen." Mutely, he bowed, knowing precisely what was to be expected of him. "I am simply here for insight, after all."

Rising, the willowy man nodded to his sister in a respectable manner as she left the room before the hollow black gaze leveled upon him once more, "I'm sure you have better places to be, young Morgenstern."

It was a dismissal; Jonathan knew it immediately by the tone. With a rough movement and a sneer, the pale haired boy was following the path of his sister, the edges of his psyche edged with wrath.

_**XOX**_

His eyes followed her, jerking this way and that as he remained as still as death against the wall in the thick shadows, biting at his very breath lest she caught him where he hid. There wasn't a single time that he hadn't been watching her, as far as he could recall at least. He doubted that there was ever a time anyone hadn't been watching her, however; Clary was beautiful, and like their family symbol, she burned brightest as she fell to be received by those beneath her. It was difficult to draw his attention away from her whenever she was in the same room, and he was of the same heritage. He could only imagine what challenge anyone _**else **_faced.

Like an avenging angel, she seemed heaven sent, driven by a rage that made his blood boil over just being near her. It was a horror he faced day in and day out, knowing that he couldn't touch her grace, no matter how hard he strove to possess it.

And she was always _**taunting**_ him_**, teasing **_him with bits of flesh he couldn't have since they were children.

Shouldn't want.

He shouldn't want to lie with his sister, to claim her innocent affection for his own but he did. He shouldn't feel possessed to defile her, to break her of her charms, or at the very least steal them away from anyone else.

But he did.

He desired it perhaps more than a man dying of thirst in the desert desired a cool lake, and on all levels he felt he needed her. She was his harbor from the storm as well as the damned whirlwind sent to destroy him itself, the torrent of her being enough to destroy him with a single dismissing glance.

But she raised hope and life where she once destroyed too. He wanted her to himself from day one and everyone that got between them was to be punished severely. He didn't care if it destroyed him to keep her. She however thought otherwise, and the people she cared most about she found new was to force on him, and soon her care for them turned to his. It wasn't by his design that he had taken to Jace in the first place, after all, but it was what made him remain.

It was always her design that brought him to his feet, and for her he would conquer this monster inside, if only for her approval. What he was becoming now would surely upset his younger sister.

Tightening his hands, Jonathan folded his arms over his chest as he eyed the pretty Nephilim before him again, willing the tightening in his stomach to go away. What if what he was already upset her? Surely his Clary could forgive what was borne in him, what he could not control. After all, he tried so _**hard **_for her. It had been enough before, hadn't it? In all the years they'd grown up together, Clary had never dismissed him. Her punishments were far less severe and for that he was glad. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to make it if her supporting love was suddenly gone from him.

He wasn't sure if he would make it _**now**_.

She was at her vanity, scrutinizing her reflection with almost a childish approval as she idly dragged a bone handled brush through her hair with one hand while its partner fisted it into a gathered clump right above her shoulder.

No not childish. Perhaps haughty was the right word. She appeared pleased with herself in a way that a beauty pageant contestant might once she was crowned supreme, and her chin was high in the air as she regally regarded her pale reflection.

So focused on the looking glass, Clary hadn't seemed to have noticed him yet, and Jonathan refused to announce himself, to ask forgiveness on his intrusion or to explain why he was there in her room without her invitation in the first place. He enjoyed it this way, hiding in the shadows as she murmured melodies to herself. In another world, he remembered her sitting in the exact same pose beside Jace as he played piano, and the words to her song came effortlessly upon him. She wasn't so sure of herself then, but then again he wasn't either. His sister had always represented his biggest threat and his largest success.

He shouldn't be here in the first place. Clary had made him think she'd be waiting for him outside the council room, but she hadn't been. It had taken him hours to track her down, poking his nose into all of the darkened corners he liked to imagine her passing her free time when she was nowhere to be found. It was by mistake that he found her again, locked up in her room late at night at her wardrobe, staring at the ghostly reflection that softened the hard lines of her face with an irregular haze in the darkness. Jonathan had tested the hallway door with barely a twitch of the handle before he moved on to the adjoining door in his room. Funny how she never seemed to remember to lock that particular door… Still her forgetfulness was his gain and the cause of his being here now, drinking her in after only a second of hesitation over the wrongness of sneaking into her room uninvited.

Slowing, her hands idled in the gorgeous locks she had been twisting and churning into submission, as her face pinched as if she was trying to remember something, and the tune faltered. Too soon it had dropped off entirely and her tone changed as she called him out. "Do you plan on hiding there all night or were you planning on inviting me to bed anytime soon?"

Oh, he'd been caught. Almost sheepishly, he took one step out of the shadows of the book alcove, his chin low against his chest as he looked at her through pale eyelashes illuminated a by the nearby fire. "Well, were you?"

"Was I what, Jonathan?" Her voice was adorably confused as she turned to look at him, and as she turned one leg slid further open than was effectively discreet and his eyes darted south to the patch of inner thigh her long night shirt failed to cover. Her fingers caught at the hem, and dragged it back down with barely a second thought to his wandering eyes as if his notice was harmless, simply a suggestion. After all, where the flimsy fell now would be considered conservative once she claimed her spot beside him for the night.

"_**Going to bed soon**_."

"Oh."

She seemed taken aback by his responsive answer. She should have expected it, really, especially knowing how long his relapse had been this time. "You go ahead without me, Jonathan. You must be running ragged by now. I'll be along after you shortly."

True enough, he turned his attention in on himself and measured exactly how bone-weary he had become. He was thinning out again, a feat that never failed to irk him every time he had another relapse of this sort, and he knew over the next few weeks skipping meals or entering the training room would be out of the question. Clary would be on him, nurturing him back to his esteemed self. It was as heartwarming as it was nauseating, but he would endure her tender love and care until she cleared him.

That didn't mean he would play the game fairly, however.

Dizzily, he swayed before falling against the wall with a sense of feigned exhaustion.

"Jonathan-"

"I'm fine. I'll wait till you're ready for bed."

He didn't move again after that, despite the hard glare his sister leveled him with. Leaning heavily against the wallpaper, he almost smiled as her agitation got the best of her and she huffed.

"Fine." She growled, tossing the hair brush back to the vanity after a moment of considering her options. It bounced twice before cracking against the thick mirror glass, abandoned there without her care to notice or attempt to check the condition of the mirror; his sister never really cared for material things anyway he supposed, and what was a piece of glass to her than something to reflect all those niggling insecurities that all women held on to like a life preserver?

Clary stood abruptly, and marched past him, wrenching the door open hard as she swept into his bedroom.

Jumping to action, Jonathan half sprinted half crept to the bed after her as she turned to glower at him. It melted away quick enough as she rose up and followed suit. "You wouldn't rather sleep in your own bedroom tonight?"

"The fire's dying and I have no patience to stir it up again." Slipping beneath the quilt and satiny sheets encasing his thick bed, she seemed too ethereal to touch him, and her eyes didn't betray this. Fixated on the edge of the bed dressings, she refused to look at him, decidedly tucking herself in as she turned onto her side. "Besides, I feel safer here. You know that."

"Should you?" his voice left him in a mere whisper, harsh even to his own ears as he lay down in front of her. Her eyes were half lidded, appraising the damage done to him no doubt, but he couldn't help but hope that it was loving in nature and not fearful. He couldn't bear it again if she really was afraid of him, for him… "I mean, you're not necessarily safe with me, are you Clar-"

"I don't see why not. " Tightly she drew his face against her breast, hands weaving through the pale hair in an affectionate display she could only have taken from her own childhood. His breath panted along the exposed valley behind the thin nightgown, puffing up the light vanilla smell she carried.

He didn't know what to do. Floundering, he settled upon holding her, something he would have done one way or the other eventually, and as his hands settled against her shoulder blades they tightened, holding onto her like she would disappear forever any moment. Her intake brought him back to himself again, and the incisive hands released her for a gentler exploration of the brush- softened locks.

They laid there for what felt like hours, watching the walls that seemed to close in around them as they held on to one another. Without realizing it, his hands had begun manipulating the crimson waves that wrapped around his dainty fingers into a loose plait along her head as he pressed hushed kiss after kiss to her forehead, to her nose, to her eyelids. Neither was ready to drift away from one another, not yet, but the distance between them was becoming more and more tangible by the minute. Suddenly, Jonathan couldn't stand it. Drawing away, he sat up on his elbow as he looked at her relaxed face, wanting to see the exact moment she either broke or enforced his desires.

"Many royal families practiced inbreeding."

The hand in her hair didn't cease its petting, only increasing the precision in which it curled along her locks, smoothing the sheet into a smooth wave down her back. Her eyes fell shut, focusing on the drift of his calloused hands, so familiar it ought to have been improper, expert and nimble his fingertips wove in and out, memorizing and organizing. He was being particularly careful with her, and she could only wonder _**why**_. Her face scrunched up in confusion. "Hmm…"

He, much like Alec, had filled his head with vast amounts of information since he was old enough to devour the literature that lined the wall of their family's library, so many books that she imagined that his brain would one day pop, sending garbage tidbit facts all over Alicante and their once gorgeous city would be rendered a trash heap. She had once assumed all of it was relative and helpful in their applications, but perhaps not. She didn't see the direction the conversation had taken, nor the lips rapidly approaching her own.

Electric ran through him when their mouths finally touched, fizzing across his nerves like a blow torch over dry grass, destroying everything in its wake but the burning sensation. It was a slight brush of his lips along the corner of her mouth, but it had all the warmth he knew she could ignite.

But her touch had never ignited the flame like this. The sensation almost had him in a panic, and his hands grabbed onto her even tighter still, wrapping her soft form around him like a security blanket. Knees coming up, he tucked her flush against his torso. She fell easily enough against him, her hands gentle as she clung to his broad shoulders like the tide threatened to take her away. She cried softly into his mouth and he felt himself harden.

Breathlessly, he pulled away, forcing every urge surging through his veins down with strength he didn't know he had. Kissing her one last time quickly, he drew out of the bed entirely just in time for the shakes to begin raining terror, "I can see the beauty of it all, of the promise of power, of giving yourself whatever you want because you want it."

"Jonathan-" Sitting up, his sister made a grab at his arm as he slid from the bed. Her delicate hand slid to his forearm and indeed had halted his escape. With a gentleness he was only prone to show her, he took her by the shoulders and laid her back down against the pillow tops and pressed lips to her forehead once more as he shifted the blankets back around her.

"Good night Clary. I promised I would protect you from the monsters in our wake and I will do just that. I'll see you in the morning."

And with that he was across the room, already shutting the hallway door behind him before she could talk him out of leaving. He could hear her discontent the moment he had found himself safely outside of his room, and any other day he would have turned around, he would have went back to her. Tonight however came down to her protection; he couldn't be held responsible for what he might attempt tonight.

_**XOX **_

_Trudging along Alicante's cobbled streets had never been something that passed for fun in Jonathan's mind, but the long walk did a good job at easing the fire in his veins, helping him to reel in the insane thoughts that were plaguing him._

_He wasn't sure what he would have done to his sister if he had stayed with her tonight. It was something he had never had to face too; his will had never faltered in protecting her but tonight... There was no doubt that he wouldn't have irrevocably hurt her._

_The night was cold and dark; no moon in the sky left him to stumble along the streets illuminated only by witch- light stones that washed the entire city in a sickly green haze that reminded him of looking through a bottle of liquor._

_He wasn't sure how long he had been aware of it, but he knew he wasn't alone. It went beyond sound or sight too- somewhere deep in his soul he felt their being resonating like a beacon, bobbing along behind him like he was magnetizing, drawing it forward. The pull was there too, demanding he face it, but Jonathan was stubborn beyond belief; instead he decided to ignore it until the demand was too much and he broke._

_Coming to a stop, the boy's thin hand tightened against a post as he made a sharp turn like he had almost missed the landmark instead of a desperate decision to try to loose whoever was tailing him. Whoever it was turned too,throwing any doubt that he might have out the theoretical window._

_"You can just go home now. I'm in no mood to be consoled and I've found myself to my destination so I don't need an escort, as much as my father might think otherwise.."_

"_I'm not here to play chaperon. You're much too old for one, anyway I'm sure. It wasn't my aim to stalk you either."_

_"And what exactly do you want from me then?"_

_"To talk. I think you are soundly sapient, regardless of what the adults might say. If it's any consolation, I thought your ideas were a brilliant start today." The girl smiled at him coyly, tucking the veil over her face as if it made her more modest. She had been following him at a distance, keeping a good ten feet back but he was well aware of her the moment she began tailing him. Glancing back at her, he slowed his pace, curious as to where she was going with this. It wasn't often that a girl his age approached him, and even less that they had something intelligent to say. It was obvious her goal was to stroke his ego from her approach, but more often than not the attempt turned into a puddle of slurred nonsense the moment he made eye contact._

_She seemed to be holding her own against him however. Turning fully, he halted entirely at the bottom of the staircase that led half a flight of steps to the library door, leaning heavily on the railing with one shoulder as he smiled his most enchanting smile at her, "You heard me?"_

"_Of course. Mother is stern, but she wishes me the best. And you are the best, now aren't you? I can't say that I haven't heard a single word you've said, politically, at least." The smile brightened her entire face and Jonathan found himself disdainfully eyeing her as she winked cutely at him. She swayed up beside him like they were the best of friends or that they ought to be before linking arms with him and drawing closer still until he could smell the heavy perfumes embedded in her skin. "And father… well he and Mrs. Lightwood were close friends, once. Perhaps __**we**__ should get better acquainted as well…."_

"_Alla Safar. I'm Malik and Khansa's-" _

_Her hand reached out as he were meant to shake it or kiss it. Glancing down at the offensive extension, he couldn't help but notice a dark splay of symbols he didn't recognize off hand around the inside of her wrist, half covered by a golden bangle. Pulling back, the Morgenstern boy stepped out of her reach, taking several steps backwards up the staircase. Surprisingly, the girl didn't try desperately to cling to him, and decided instead to smile knowingly at him. "Didn't ask your name. In fact I could care less for it."_

"_You're fifteen now, right? Oh don't give me that look. There wasn't a soul in Idris that didn't know when you took your first marks. Your father isn't known for his patience nor his privacy._

"_A virgin still, too, perhaps? No doubt that the harlot didn't _**try **_to satisfy you."_

_Fear rose in him immediately. Was his family so apparent? Isabelle or Clary, it hardly mattered who she was talking about, were the only women he had any repetitive contact with and neither girl was a whore. His poor sister probably couldn't even wrap her head around sex, let alone-_

_Blanching, he tried to cut her off before she might have observed something even more embarrassing about him. There didn't seem to be anything he could do to stop her, however, and she babbled on._

"_You're rebelling and I think it's absolutely _**adorable**_. But oh dear, what sort of trouble could you possibly find yourself in the lonesome walls of Alicante that would grant you your daddy's disapproval? Picking up some books on shacking up with werewolves?" _

_"What do you want?"_

_"Well you, _**silly**_." Reaching out, her fingers hooked the cuff at his wrist and brought it hard against her breast with a sigh. Gone was the demure girl, replaced by a vixen that was careless with her heart. "And besides all that, some _**fun**_."_

_She led him away, down several alley- ways and dead ends that a good, respectable girl shouldn't be caught dead in let alone know about. Head down, the quiet demurity returned again as she hummed to those she passed by until finally she had led him deep enough that no one should be able to find them. Pressing him into the corner, the girl descended quickly, coming to her knees as she freed him of his pants with fewer sharp movements than he could recall using to put them on earlier. She was hurried in her motions, like he would change his mind._

_It took only a few minutes to get him up and ready, wanting. his hands tightened, clawing at the wall, her shoulders, begging her on. She didn't get the hint._

_Grabbing her hard by the neck with one hand, he thrusted harder into her. The resistance was minor and he felt her nails rack along his forearm but he was too far gone. It felt too good. There was something deep inside him twisting and changing the darkness._

_He half expected tears. He had tried to push her away but she'd insisted. He couldn't be held responsible for the amount of force he'd put up, surely she already knew that. It was only a few minutes in that he had smelled her blood and she had only tried to stop him weakly._

_Shortly._

_The struggle had maybe lasted a minute if that, but when he finally pulled away he already had known what he had done._

_Head lulling to the side, her eyes were still wide and bright green, open and dilated in her terror. If they had fallen shut he could have probably pretended that she wasn't dead but she was and there wasn't a thing he could do about it now._

_Funny though, that he felt more relief than alarm looking at her limp body..._

_**XOX**_

_**The night and he ought to be the closest of friends.**_

He spent so much intimate time with the moon and stars that he ought to write sonnets to it or something else romantic at least. It felt like he was only alive under the pale light of the moon, and the outcome was a distance like a gorge between he and his little sister. Jonathan regretted the loss, but it was needed if he were to protect her from himself.

It had been three days since she had seen him, even if he had seen her, watched after her. It wasn't his intention to ostracize her, but it was the solution to his largest of problems, and it wasn't until he felt particularly in good humor that he mused over the idea of rejoining her and helping her escape the confines of her gilded cage like he had managed to do for himself. When he found her in her room once more, locked up like a song bird singing to its lost freedom.

"You know that I love you, don't you?" The girl turned, and her hair caught on the wind as it twisted its way across her face. It was characteristically odd for him, to see her hair loose, and his hands found their way into the garnet curls, drawing it back where it belonged. She seemed confused by the gesture, her face skewing up naively as he brought his mouth to the small pout of her lips, forcing the crown of her head harder against his awaiting palms as she resisted the motion. His fingers tightened in the unruly waves as he pressed his forehead against hers, knocking their identical noses against one another, "I love you more than life itself, Clary. Without you... I'd sooner see myself dead than be without you."

"Jonathan, you shouldn't say such things." Her hands tightened, knuckles whitening as she grasped the window ledge fast.

"It's the truth, though…" his hand caught at her bare shoulder, fingers enclosing over the pulse at her clavicle as she turned her torso towards his voice, her feet firmly put.

"You must survive. If not for yourself, but for me… for Jace. One day we'll return, we'll come home. _**I promise**_. How do you think our brother will feel if he comes home to find that you've passed on, that you didn't wait for him? He'd be heartbroken."

"I still have _**you**_ though. You're the only one I have ever needed, you know that."

A look of worry pulled at her soft features, as she tugged herself away from her brother's hold. His hands caught at hers and she allowed it, if only to allow something of her to soothe him from what devastation her words might have on him. "I'm not really here, Jonathan. Surely you have felt this."

Looking to the window, her fingers traced the line of the larger hands in hers as her gaze ran a line along the mountain pass in the far distance, the great looming hill ever on the horizon. "My heart, my soul, is far from this place. With every passing day, my blood dissolves from yours and soon, nothing of me will remain here to comfort you."

"How will you comfort yourself, Jonathan, when you never had to do so before?" As she turned, her face hardening against the tears that threatened to spill as her hands clenched in his tightly and she fell back against the window sill. Clary seemed so broken sitting there, the moon in her hair and the dull light glinting off the stream that leaked over her full cheeks. Something in his chest twisted and he was on his knees in an instant.

"Tell me how to help you and I'll do it, Clary. I'll do anything, just please… _**please stop crying**_."

"Don't you understand, Jonathan? I can't. I'm not real, and if I were how could I forgive you? You killed that girl."

_**Killed?**_ He couldn't remember having killed anyone, other than the boar that Aline had helped him along with, but his sister should hardly be so upset by that; she did after all appreciate her bacon. "You don't believe me. You don't remember?"

He shook his head. He hardly remembered most of the past few days however. It was all a haze

"Then perhaps you ought to take it up with the bitch that's tainted you."

_**XOX**_

He hardly idled as he retraced his way back to the makeshift prison he had built. If he had forgotten his way, the half- frozen matted grass pointed the way he had stumbled across it almost a week before. Jonathan found himself more and more surprised the path he had cut out in the first place had survived however and the likelihood of him making his way home again tonight was slowly diminishing with every sharp and darting turn. It was like he had been half drunk that night, and lets face it, he was even more delirious now.

It was so sudden that he came upon the girl in question that he could barely believe his eyes. Stopping short, he cut into a ring of fruit trees his grandmother had transplanted when she had first come here, each coming from a different family member, resting his hand on one of the many runes that had been carved into the bark of the youngest tree. _Prayers to the heavens... _the thought was always bitter and never settled well with him. What did heaven care for them? It was romantic, however, and each of the Morgenstern's had left their own mark on the trees.

To the oldest tree in the ring he had strung her up, hoping to have left her there for good. It would have been his mark, his sacrifice to his lineage. So many generations had placed their faith in their orchard, and now so too would he.

At least that was what he had hoped. Half expecting a lifeless corpse strewn into the center, he was appalled to see Aline very much alive, slumped in the middle. In no way did she appear weak, however. Dressed in her pale robe, her hands clutched in her lap, she seemed contemplative. That is, until she looked up to greet him.

She was the princess of the snow, a true Yuki- onna. With the ice crystals clinging beautifully to the tips of her lashes and dusted throughout her long ebony hair, Aline looked deceptively demure as she looked blinked up at his entrance, like a fairy tale coming to life before his very eyes, and it was almost too much for him- enough that if he had a human heart, he would have undoubtedly been moved to free her, to become her valiant knight. But neither he nor this monster were anything close to human, except in the mockery they made of their forms.

She knew this as well, and with a slow rolling movement, she rose to her knees and turned to face him with all of the innocence falling away as her smile returned wickedly anew. "You have come back for me?"

It had taken him only a few hours to drag her back towards the manor chained like she should have been from the start, her cries for help altogether ignored from the safety of her cage. She had been left there, chained like a beast to the bark of the ancient tree in the garden for nearly a week, and though she still seemed at the top of propriety, the girl seemed to have broken down to desperation enough that she was meddling with a few dark traditions that, Nephilim or not, would have had her beheaded if his father took notice of their nature. The raven haired girl had managed to cut herself along her forearm, and had tried in vain to use the expulsion to draw dark magic along the frost to no avail. Its failure seemed to devastate her, and she cried out in some archaic snarling, cursing some unheard of deity or another, he was sure. She did not relent either, and for her efforts, he had bound her arms together and left her five days prior. He couldn't just let the bitch run off again. That is how he found her, still smugly proud at the apex of a failed ritual, blood splattered down the left side of her dress and sleeve as she stumbled towards him, half wild.

"Where's Clary?" Jonathan found himself snarling. He did not want nor care to take the time to speak to the Asian girl kindly. As far as he knew she was involved with her disappearance. With great surprise, she jumped up, looking to Jonathan with a sense of yearning. She stepped forward, reaching for him until the boy proudly stepped outside of her small reach, and the girl fell to her knees once more as she tried desperately to touch his feet.

She couldn't even reach that, and the distance seemed to bother her for a moment, looking up to his face with a sense of wonder. She seemed to be thinking over her answer long and hard, and after all she could think of had been considered, the girl retrieved a block of wood about the size of her hand from the folds of the top of her gown held it up with a make to compare it to his glare. Still, nothing came to her, and her hands reached out once more but in offering to him, the block settled in her open palms.

The girl held out an old damaged photo, the glass long plucked from the frame and only held in by the ratted matting. It appeared that it had been long carried and adored often too despite its abuse. As he turned to actually look down upon the photograph, Jonathan noticed how old it really was; it was taken outside the old Fairchild manor, the Morgenstern's summer home that was abandoned to the elderly couple ever since their daughter went missing. They hadn't been back there since. The Lightwoods took up the right corner of the image, shoulder to shoulder like toy soldiers in drab grey that seemed to sap all of the life out of their forms, and facing the left with Jace beside Alec and a carefree arm swung over the two, with Clary beside him with a loving smile, her hands occupying her brothers' free hands, her back towards Jonathan. They were so young then, so naive to how the world really was that it made him wonder were their innocence went.

He knew that the darkness he kept at bay had destroyed his at birth, but they were still pure, still the same innocent youths that they had been half their lives ago.

"Which one?" Her voice cut right through him and he turned to glare at her as if the idea was obnoxious. Everyone knew who Clary Morgenstern was, and if they didn't then he would make them.

"My sister," the ground out noise he emitted scarred him even, and he saw her quickly back peddling, unsure of her error in judgment. "Tell me where she's gone or you'll rot here bitch."

"I don't know where she's gone." Aline didn't understand what was happening. This man was supposed to have been her kin, the other half to her soul, it was what she had been made to be. Yet he desired the company of his family more so than her own. The thought of living the rest of her life alone in the wilderness to rot away was not a pleasant idea, not one she liked to idle on. Was she not worthy of him? Not pretty enough, or exotic enough for his tastes? He was everything she desired, why could this not be easier?

Reaching out, Aline crawled desperately to the edge of the chain and reached as far as her bony hand could, her shoulder catching painfully in the soldered hinge. He was just far enough that her fingers might reach him if she were willing to dislocate her own shoulder.

She was willing to, too; if it proved how far she would go for Jonathan Morgenstern and would not snuff her out from this world, then she would do it, just to bring herself closer to him. Aline doubted that death would be a deterrent even, so long as the cost earned her his affections. With a rocking motion, she slid back on her heels before forcing her shoulder back with an audible snap. A shriek of pain ripped from her lips, and he turned eyes full of disdain and wonder to her as she victoriously clung to his coat with the tips of her fingers, her arm limply suspended from behind her. "Don't leave me here, Jonathan. Do not forsake my love for you."

"What would you do to become queen? What would you bring to our union?" He found himself asking again, and the girl went silent like the first time. Of course she didn't know, she wasn't Clary. Only his sister had ever understood what exactly he needed and wanted, and Jace was the only one to ever provide enough for him. He understood that he needed both to be a functioning human being, but half allowed him enough control that he stumbled around in a dazed dreamlike state like Clary.

Except his was more Nightmare than Dreamland. Blood melted from the ceiling, people rotted on the floor. But it wasn't complete until he came to and found out his dreams were reality.

"Did you enjoy my gift to you, Jonathan?"

A flash of a cold body slithered into his mind, a girl with bright green hazel eyes and hair like midnight curling across her face. Opening his mouth, he shut it immediatley. He knew her, the dead girl. He'd practically been raised beside her. How...

Did he...

He knew the answer before she ever spoke, knew in his heart that this girl before him was his disaster and his pain and his wants and needs; he only needed to look to what she would have him do and he would know everything he could ever want. She was leading him down the dank and dreary path to self realization, but also to distruction. Everyhting she brought him was pain and fear. Fear for his life, his sister, and his chances at recovery.

Leaning in, he could hear her gasp, his face coming as close as he dared to her wild face. Aline pressed upward again and this time Jonathan allowed her to lightly kiss him, her lips warm and salty with the taste of blood and her hands slid lovingly to his hair. As he pulled away, he could see dawning in her eyes understanding; she had already lost him, "You would bring decay. You've already brought it, intent or not don't you see?"

_**"You should kill them..."**_

Cringing he drew away. The voice was in his head alone but he knew it all too well. Turning from her, he began the trek back to the manor with only half a mind to actually getting there.

He didn't need to ask Aline to know he was up to his ears in shit.

"There's no anguish in doing what you need to survive, love. Remember that!"

_**No doubt he would. Probably in repetive horrific nightmares.**_

Tucking his head to his chest, he hurried faster away from the bound demon girl, ignoring the smile in her voice or the lingering chill in his bones.

_**XOX**_

If it was humanly possible, his little sister looked even more upset than before upon his return, her chin aloft with ardent superiority, like he was nothing but a worm, a serpent that slithered underfoot. It was a look he did not like on her face, as it was far beneath her; he looked away, anywhere but where he would find the verdant eyes that made his stomach twist the way it was.

"You've gone and done it now, haven't you?"

He tried his best to avoid her wrath, walking into his bedroom without inviting her to joing him. She followed regardless, slamming the door behind her as she swept in behind him.

"You disgust me, Jonathan. How could you?"

"_**How could I? **_I think we both know _**how."**_

Stopping short, he heard a noise of disgust escape her, "You're going straight to hell and you don't give a damn in what condition. We agreed-"

"YOU agreed! _**Father**_ agreed! What I did was accept there wasn't anything else I could do. What else could I do, Clary, what? Because I wanted you to love me, and you're the one that told me what I had to do to deserve-"

"I can't love you. Don't you see, Jonathan? You're a monst-"

He didn't even realized his arm had stuck out until he felt her throat in his hand and his fingers tightened uncontrolably despite his command for it all to stop. He had her pinned against the wall, feet dangling in the air. A choking noise caught in the back of her throat, and Clary clawed at his face, trying to turn away from her brother. Illusion or not, she had his heart tremoring.

At last, when he thought he would snap her neck entirely, he managed to loosen his grip so that she touched ground, still fairly secure where he wanted her. She wouldn't escape him after tearing at his heart. She would answer for it-

"You've ruined _**everything!" **_she ground out, her dainty hands still grasping at one of his wrists. She didn't have a hope to remove one of them let alone both, but she still vainly tried to push her will into him. Tears were threatening to fall from her lower lashes and her entire being shook like a leaf.

He could taste her horrendous fear as it took her over. Would he, could he, snuff her life out like the girl that floated on in the back of his memory?

Faster than he realized his arm had moved, Jonathan had struck out hard and precise along her collar. He had no idea that the seraph blade had made its way to his hand, but the familiar burn licked at his finger tips alerting him of his tight grasp on the hilt.

The color that dripped languidly down her chest was vibrant and pure, eliciting a darkness from the deepest parts of his soul that he did not ever want to face. He enjoyed the pained look on her face, the smell as it fell around him and drew him closer still. Brushing his fingers to the wound, he tried to stiffle the bleeding.

He would never want to kill his own sister and yet, he had slashed her. Pulling back, he tried to press harder down against the cut, but as she second hand joined the first, he couldn't help but notice something very wrong.

His hand was dry. Running his hand along the cut, he suddenly mourned the absence of the horrific wetness. Obsidian eyes darting to look up at verdant green ones, he practically shivered at the wicked smile on his sister's lips before she crystallized, falling like sand in an hourglass to disappear forever.

XOX

Author's note: I know. _**I know.**_ It's been forever since you got anything out of me and I'm sorry. Half this chapter was done for months now and the other half…. Well I struggled. Between work and travel, life has been fairly hectic in finding time and too soon I just didnt want to write. Motivation was absolutely gone. So this chapter might have come off a bit choppy. I'll probably go back and rehash it one day when I feel it again, maybe. What you should have gotten from this chapter:

1) Clary isn't really there. She's a figment of his imagination

2) Jonathan is losing his mind

3) The italicized scene happened but Jonathan doesn't have active memory of it. Flashes here and there with triggers may bring it on, (i.e. Aline) but going "Oh hey what did I do last night?" isn't going to make him remember killing that girl.

Those two things I tried making aparent; hoefully I suceeded. This chapter went a differnet way than originally planned too, particularily creating another OC to suit a need. The original had him killing a kid and delivering it to Malachi in a rage that he upset Clary, but I was trying to make his descent to madness slower. That would have went too quickly, I think.

What you got was a bit of smut. Oh well, It's done.

Next up Clary's adventure.

Till Next time

TAORI


	19. I Spoke to the Devil Today

Fingers interlocked, Clary led her partner through the blindingly dark tunnels, their hips swaying like a current as Simon tried her best to duplicate the intricate weaving this way and that. They were traveling deeper into the caverns than the Nephilim had before, and neither had any clue where their adventuring could or would lead them this time.

Luke had said it was fine for her to investigate his lands, much to the other Alphas displeasure, but as his step daughter, she had that right. She might have to fight for that right in the near future, but for now she had free reign over what busied her time here.

Taking them deeper into the abyss pleased her in a way that set Simon's nerves off. They had found one exit already, and so surely Clary knew there must be a second escape hatch, and the most logical of locations would be down past all of the sleeping caverns.

Turning a corner, a shadow flickered across the pale light the floor had illuminated for her, sending streams of dark waves towards them far sooner than the sound of footfalls reached her ear. Freezing, the slight Nephilim held her hand up to halt her partner. The boy shifted down behind her, becoming like a second layer against her back, his nose brushing against her shoulder as he looked out blindly to see what she had noticed.

It didn't take long for the adumbration to take form, and breathless the shape of a man came stumbling breathless down the shaft. First the boxy form of rolling muscular man in his prime flickered into sight, a thick mop of plastered black hair on his head that leaned heavily along one of the tunnel walls. He was breathing hard and fast, and no doubt knew she was there if the rasping of his nose was any indication.

"Mica?" Clary called, curious.

The male in question turned halfway to see her inquisitively standing in the hallway before he went on his way, the limp in his gait barely hidden beneath the noble arrogance he had mastered in movements. It was still there, however, and the Nephilim girl didn't appreciate being ignored. Following the elder boy, she set her mind to finding the truth. "Go back upstairs Clarissa. My sister is looking for you."

Too bad fate had other plans for her day.

"See, even the savage thinks we shouldn't have gone this far." nudging her, Simon tried to turn her around, to bring her back to the higher levels they had been well welcome to. His Parabatai seemed convinced otherwise, however, her green eyes pinned to the fork Mica had taken, her face frozen in doll- like curiosity. "Hey, Morganstern, you hear me? Back north, lets go."

"CLAAARY!?"

She heard her name twinkling through the wet walls, echoing and muddling until she had no idea where she would be attacked from. Crashing down the burrow, Vianey slid more so than ran towards them with energy neither Nephilim had seen her taken by. The olive skinned girl was bouncing around excitedly, her cropped hair springy as she jumped about with as much energy as a toddler running on a sugar high, her eyes wide as she bounced from one hall patron to the next, trying to transfer as much of her excitement as she could. Turning to Clary, she grabbed at the other girl's hands moments before she crashed into her, pulling her along and spinning them around in a wide arch.

The excitement was palpable, but the energy behind it startled the ruby- haired Shadow hunter so much that she met her with her arms halfway up and locked to brace for impact as she flinched away expecting pain. Simon started after them too, ignited by the fearfully surprised look that glinted across his Parabatai's eyes.

_**"The **__**Deipnon**__**!"**_ Vianey gleamed, spinning around with a smile that illuminated her entire face. The motion whipped Clary about nauseously, and the momentum turned her hard into the chest of the other girl and into a spin that had Clary grabbing tighter onto her keeper's fingers to keep from falling backwards. "We _**get to go **_this time!"

"In English now, so those of us who don't speak Latin or any of its derivatives can understand you."

"Come on, Clary. It's Greek, you ought to know that." Simon interjected as the other girl fell upon his Parabatai, forcing her into a high paced dance full of spins and bouncy steps, her bare feet slipping from her slippers as her shorter legs struggled to touch the floor again. No longer worried for her, he couldn't help the smirk from tugging at his lips as the werewolf girl swung her around like a rag doll. "_**Dinner**_, to be precise. It's good to hear that the slop you've been dishing out to us isn't recognized as actual food to you people-"

Scrunching her nose up, the elder girl fought the urge to stick her tongue out at him childish, continuing on without much preamble, "It's a festival, Clary, the only festival all of Down world share. Faerie, Werewolf, and Vampire, we come together to thank the Mother of Vampires, the Goddess of Crossroads, and the fore mother of the Wild Hunt for all she has done for all of our peoples. She's the reason we are safe so close to the Nephilim capital."

"What about warlocks?" Clary asked curiously after a long pause, her expression inquisitive. They were a thing of legend to most shadow hunters her age, and those that were old enough to remember a time when the magic folk roamed among humankind didn't desire to talk about them. She was certain that it had to be her father's decree, as Nephilim were tried and condemned one after another for consorting with Warlocks shortly after Valentine had seized control of the Clave and shattered the promised protections of the Accords.

Turning, the slighter girl continued her trek down the slight decline, her Parabatai at her heel despite neither acknowledging the continuation. The hazel eyed girl on the other hand, raised her hand and wagged her finger in a pointing sort of way as if she had a formed response that was immediately stolen away from her, floored as they put even more distance between them, and she looked down, deep in concentration as she drew her bottom lip between her sharp teeth and worried it while she tried to hunt down what she might have been about to say. Glancing up, she wrinkled her nose slightly to one side, her forehead creasing at her brow, "I can't recall ever seeing a warlock at the festival. Surely they _**must**_ have been there before to dedicate their own tribute- Lady Hecate would certainly have punished them otherwise. She's not known for her lenience."

"Sounds like it could be dangerous. "A scuffle behind them let the shadow hunters know the werewolf girl had scurried to catch up with them. Glancing up at her, Simon watched the lines of her face, half hidden in the dark, draw inward in something he might consider pained. Something flickered across her face that Lewis seized a hold of, digging his heels in so it wouldn't skirt away. She had been momentarily frightened it seemed. Fear was not something he had ever seen on this girls face- rage, distaste, pain, _**yes**_, but never bone chilling fear. All creatures knew fear, it was true, but she had been exempt to it until now.

"I suppose to some, yes."

"Why get so excited then?" Simon questioned breathily, and the dark haired woman turned to look at him almost shocked. Her arms tightened against Clary's elbow, keeping her snug beside her, "Why even go, if you're so afraid of this woman?"

Again something flitted across her expressive features. Clary saw it too, and pulled away minutely. "Vi-"

"You don't understand, it's an honor to be asked to go-"

"Yet you said that all of Down world would be there. So which is it? Are all of you demon spawn going to be crawling out of the woodwork or is it an honor really?"

"Both! I've never been asked to go, let alone allowed!" hands raking through her hair, the girl gave a look of disgust his way, before her hand clamped over the other girl's wrist, dragging her faster down the tunnel, "Only the Alphas have gone before from the werewolves before now. Mica's the only other one other than Luke that has crawled out of the Deipnon from our pack. The other Alphas, they've taken it as a personal attack. The packs are weak, too, they can't form a decent enough tribute to appease her. Now, we have you though, Clary. Our own touch of heaven's grace. We're bound to please her this time, I'm sure of it."

Tugging her hand a different way than they were headed, Vianey stepped hard enough away to send her smallest companion stumbling, and with a smile, she whiffed in the girl's direction, "Come on, we both stink enough to kill a horse, and trust me, that's far from pleasing to a high Deity."

_**XOX**_

The water sloshed to just below her nose, threatening to drown her as the Nephilim grasped the iron rim awkwardly. True they had tubs in Alicante, and the concept wasn't new to her, but it had been a way different sort of experience when the only one using it was you and the water was warm and refreshing instead of the cold sludge she had forced herself into. The only temperature relief was from the other bodies not a hands width from her.

Shuddering, her eyes closed as she tried to will her head to go under so she could scrub her hair.

Vianey was right at her side, nails taking harsh lines out of her flesh as she tore away at herself with soap while Simon had awkwardly busied himself behind them washing his hair, his back to them as he tried his damnedest to pretend he wasn't in a tub with two equally naked girls.

A hard line formed in the girl's thick lips, and despite his best efforts, he found his eyes wandering, comparing, weighing as her attention turned to rubbing soap into Clary's flesh. She was pretty, but not in the way his Clary was. Wild, she had far more scars than he would ever allow to mar his partner's flesh, and she was hardened by a lifestyle that would have broken so many. A small silver rake of lines, a claw mark over both of her hips that ran down her thighs, caught his attention. Raw looking, he wondered who had given them to her. Glancing up from them along the line of her rib cage, over the bony shoulder, he caught her gaze, the sharp hazel strict as her body shifted away towards Clary. She urged her down, dipping her head and cupping the line of her forehead to keep the cool splash from seeping across her face when she emerged once more, shivering. Cutting him again, the elder girl broke his trans, her voice bitter if not annoyed, "If you're going to stare could you at least be of use and wash my hair?"

Just as his partner had done, the girl shifted, legs sprawling open as the squatted deeper in the thick pool, head falling far enough back that the eyes that had caught him blinked back at him, wider looking now that he was behind her. Complying, Simon's hands shook, dragging back the thick hair so that his fingers could rub through it under the frigid waters.

Her hands slid away from his Parabatai, and in an instant, the younger girl had launched herself dripping wet from the tub, running to where the towels had been laid out for them. With a groan the older girl, glanced at the boy warily, before drawing after her. "You finish in there and then go find Mica or Asa to borrow some of the pack's clothes. We're going to have to burn what you just peeled off earlier."

_**XOX**_

The werewolves ended up milling about, slowly exiting the caves one by one until a group of forty had formed- the seven Alphas and their tightly knit pack mates clinging to one another in clusters.

Vianey had, amusingly, managed to get her into a white sundress, and the early winter chill tore at her skin the same as everyone else's, but somehow Clary felt exposed in a way that no one else around her was. Inky black marks bled out from beneath the threadbare gown, and along her arms and legs were the same marks. Pretty, manicured feet curled against the frost covered ground beside dirty, calloused ones, ones that knew their path so surely in the woods. She, on the other hand, was blind to the world, protected.

One by one, the Alphas gathered their people, pressing things of varying size and worth into eager hands. Looking across the gathering, Clary found Amabel's dark gaze. Quickly, it went away as she was begrudgingly pushed towards them, taking her place stiffly at Mica's side. '

Meanwhile, Luke nudged her, startling her as he reached for his daughter's hands last, pressing what felt like a coin into her palm. Simon's arm slung along her shoulders then, a reassuring smile flashing in his eyes as his heat radiated through their thin clothing.

"Don't drink or eat anything you three," Luke murmured gruffly as he shouldered them behind him. As Alpha, it had been his right to lead, but Vianey had been so excited. Whatever fear that had been born in the other werewolf packs of this creature, this woman, Luke had somehow maneuvered his own men from it and so his pack knew nothing of the heartache that the rest felt as they marched onward like a downtrodden herd in sacrificial white, the bleached bright fabrics blending them into the snow. "This... _**Woman**_... She likes to play faerie games and it is likely that she will try to cull someone for the Hunt tonight."

_**Faerie games?**_ How exactly might a fairy cultivate a game? Did they even know what fun was? Clary hadn't heard of such a thing before but she had a sinking feeling it wasn't something she would want to play regardless. Nodding all the same, she gave Luke a half- felt smile as the anticipation started seeping out of her. She wasn't a bundle of energy and his reserve seemed to be an adequate damper on her mood, unlike Vianey who had yet to stop skipping ahead of the group.

Their travelling party seemed to meander towards their destination without any direction, like the point of their travel was embedded on their very souls and the closer they got, the more their group seemed to visibly melt.

Coming to a slight break in the trees, they filtered into a barren meadow which had been laid out with thousands of candles. In the fading light, it made the opening look like a glowing bubble in the center of a dark abyss, as if it were the last safe place in the world. Taking their place among hundreds if not thousands of other people, Clary found herself closer to the middle than she would have expected; Luke had marched his family right up to the mouth of the clearing, hanging back against the treeline as his people lined up around him, leaving a few rows of flesh between the Alphas and the couple dozen rows of beings before them.

_**Vampires, **_Clary realized, by the extraordinary beauty and power they exuded. The whole lot were dressed in fine golds and on their knees, swaying as they sang a quiet, ancient song, hands before them clasping to a modest bouquet. None of them acknowledged their arrival, and the party was forced to stay at the edges of the clearing, half in and out of the treeline. It made Clary feel safer than she knew she should, being so close to disappearing. Her hand curled along the bark of an oak tree as she surveyed the entire gathering. Looking past the vampires was easy enough with them bowed in respectful reverence, and Clary's eyes found that which they had come to pay tribute immediately.

Standing at the apex of the circle was a meek looking woman with curly chocolate hair that was tamed by a heavy crown that appeared to be made of several foot long thorns or grainy ash colored horns turned viciously outward, and by the golden- embroidered red veil that hung down her back by the impaling tips of the crown. The veil matched the swatch of fabric she wore at her waist, binding the thick, bronze colored fabric of her trailing length dress to her curvaceous form and as she swayed along with the vampire- ilk, the fabric shimmered in a way that it looked like the garb was on fire, the gauzy material rolling and flashing dangerously.

She was most ordinary looking; no ballads had been written on her beauty nor were any travelers dragged to their deaths by her song. She was a shapely woman to be sure, but seductively thin to the point that her hardened hourglass figure reminded Clary of mundane cartoons that alluded seduction, and with such exaggerated thin to wide points in her delicate torso Clary found herself pondering if the woman was perhaps starving away- _there was absolutely no way anyone could survive with a waist that Clary could probably wrap her hands around with ease-_ but the Great Demon Hecate was worthy of their worship all the same, and the second her hooded eyes opened, the moment the fiery pits set their lingering gaze on her in her appraising survey of the gathering, Clary could sense the great might in her emaciated frame, like looking at a breeze and seeing the forthcoming storm or seeing a spark and watching a wildfire that would consume an entire forest, and it was suddenly like all the air had evaporated from the clearing as she took in one long breath in.

Something about her radiated power the likes Clary had never seen before, and it was no wonder why so many kowtowed before her. Everything Clary could see of her was very much human, though most of her body was covered by a long drape of silk and a gown that dragged brambles about her feet. The only attribute that spoke of anything unearthly was her eyes, which were muddy red depths surrounded by the sea of black one might normally associate with the pupil. It struck Clary as off, having never laid eyes on anyone with red in their eyes, let alone someone that lacked any whites in their sclera.

Her face remained loftily upturned with her eyes shut serenely as the gathering only thickened, singing softly to herself. Clary strained to hear the words when suddenly the melody turned to something she recognized and the circle around her each in turn took part too, all muttering the song in a hauntingly soft note for so many.

She knew the melody in a way she would never have forgotten its origin, but the words were all wrong and the tone settled like a stone in her gut.

"My chiiiill' d-errr-reenn!" the breath rushed painfully out of her so suddenly, so full of glee that it unnerved the Shadow hunter girl that the woman didn't seem alert. Her arms rose, as if to take them all into herself, and voices cried out from the thickening crowd.

"Tonight we hunt!"

"Tonight we unite- as one people of one heart, and one fear." a blonde woman dressed in slinky champagne gold called out regally from not far away from her. The familiarity of her voice made Clary find her out in the mob, and she knew her immediately as the vampiress that delivered the warning to Lucian's pack. In her arms was an odd sight for a someone set to deliver a tribute; weighed down heavily, the woman bent slightly from the formidable weight of bearing the bouquet of wilted opium poppies and hemlock, and the idea seemed preposterous until she realized that it wasn't dying foliage that she bore, but that which had been bathed in blood. It seeped over her arms and her dress rather sickly, like they had been dipped rather than sprayed, and the idea of that much blood going to waste among vampires...

It didn't settle well with her.

"One threat, one prey that we will strike!"

The crowd gave a rise at once, and the young Nephilim noticed the group around her seemed to tighten and fall in on one another, closer and tighter like a writhing, breathing mass.

Vianey's hand twitched, drawing the Nephilims' attention. Gone was the girl who had earlier danced with excitement, gone was the happiness and the warmth and the glow and all of the good Clary had come to see her, leaving in her replacement a pale, sickly thin girl that seemed broken beyond repair, her eyes wide and her brows furrowed, with shaking hands and trembling knees. Clary tried to nudge her back, to bring her back into herself with her fingers brushing the inside of the elder girl's wrist and hazel eyes shot to meet hers. Apparently she wasn't the only one set off.

"Clary... r-_**run**_..."

Then, one by one the lycanthrope fell to their knees, some with purpose and others with struggle. Nothing stood between her and this woman then, but the ocean of Down worlders that had flocked here to writhe at her feet

Alone, the young Nephillim woman stood before the great demon, a sea of Down worlders at their feet neither helping nor hindering either of them from moving. The woman surveyed her gathering slowly, unhurriedly gazing at them with mild disinterest until finally her eyes settled on Clary, bare and open.

What originally had appeared to be a normal woman, was something that was slowly becoming wickeder before her eyes. Distastefully, her sneer took over most of her face before she looked away and another face where her long brown hair should have been took over watching her.

She had multiple faces on her head? The thought made her dizzy until the faces began to pull away to separate, three in total, and all glaring along the pool of flesh.

"You bring Nephilim before us?" One of the woman's barbed faces pinned Clary with a withering stare, rotating it slowly on its access and turning to shoot the look in the direction of Lucian. The movement made her appear very serpentine, like a viper ready to strike and her red eyes glowered over the gathering, demanding answers from anyone but always returning to the pack leader responsible.

"Certainly," the right head said, taking the left's duty in staring down the Nephilim girl, "the Werewolf king will have a good reason for all of this."

"She's my mate's pup." there was a struggle, a guttural noise, and Lucian was off one of his knees as if he could stop anything the demon might do to her. That was she was. Clary could feel it now, the twisted nature of her energy crackling against her own. The werewolf-turned Nephilim's face twisted with the effort, and without letting her eyes leave her threat, Clary could hear his hand reach for her's as he growled out his amendment, "Daughter."

"I am his daughter." Clary amended louder for him, and her other hand caught his calloused one, intertwining their fingers. He might not be her biological father, but this man was trying to protect her. He had showed her kindness where others might have turned their backs to her. Clary wasn't his responsibility, but Lucian had taken her under his protection, and for that, somehow, he deserved something.

The girl could feel his hand twitch in her own, holding fast as he pulled up closer to the two girls. Vianey was shaking hard, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and for a moment, Clary took the liberty to glance at her even though she could do nothing to alleviate her pain. Jocelyn too had fallen forward, coming to rest her head on the werewolf girl along her back, arm curling along the ground as if to hold her weight off her as the other wrapped around the unborn babe she carried and her hand grasping hard at her inner thigh. So Luke had moved forward to protect his wife, not his pack mate.

Her mother looked at ease nonetheless but her hand closed and tightened where Clary remembered there being her kinjal blade growing up, located at her thigh where the fleshy muscle of her hips began to recede into lean tissue in her backside. The white linen dress that appeared mandatory for the celebration left her with no place to hide them, however, and she had forwent even the holster. Every occupant of the clearing was barefoot.

"Daughter of the Punisher, the Avenger, and the Deceived, why are you here before one that desires your kind for kindling? Have you that little self respect? Have your people spoken of my forgiveness?" The voice startled her back to attention, and when Clary turned, she noticed that all three faces were turned on her and smiling, a sawing laughter vibrating her bosom as she laughed at her own humor.

"I respect myself a great deal. Too much, perhaps. Maybe that is why I don't fall before you like everyone else here."

Hecate sniffed deeply in, the movement in her chest making her hour glass sharper like pyramids laid across one another, and a wild, black dog appeared behind Clary.

Correction, wild_** dogs. **_And not just behind her, but _**everywhere.**_ Taking a deep breath, she tried not to cry out as they passed her by, running up along her sides to get up to their mistress. "No, my dear. I do not think that to be the case. Too much bad blood, perhaps. The rotten seed of an even more decaying tree. You Nephilim think you stand so high above us, above my children, when your only the blinded orphans of a father too arrogant to care for you."

The figure shivered and after a moment, pulled apart into three separate entities, the flesh where they once touched stretching and dripping like shimmering, bloody putty as it wetly snapped apart, bits dropping here and there.

They drew apart, and Clary could see the right creature had taken the right unseeing eye and the left the other one, and stood naked beside the one that spawned them, leaning heavily towards her as if they could sap her might, and the original now gazed lowly around the valley clearing with two perfectly normal looking black eyes.

The two replicas clung to the drapery that once shawled their master as they tested their legs like foals, their knees quaking together as one hand clung to the mother for support, modestly tucking the filmy material against their naked flesh from where it still remained wrapped around their bony shoulders with the other; the fabric wrapped loosely over the luxurious curves of their hard hourglass figures, clinging to the wet blood still fresh from their wounds, before it fell to a crimson pool near their feet.

No... hooves? The oddity made her do a double take but she realized the woman's feet were not human now, and had in fact terminated in a smooth, ebony material that appeared to be three equal parts, rounded but unforgiving. The offspring did not step easily either but stumbled messily. Then, with a weakness of an infant lamb the clones shifted, shivering along the ground like old beggar women, one hand outstretched as they went into the crowd to redeem their sacrifices for the mother while she waited eagerly on, smoothing the torn flesh of her shoulders down and smearing the blood there over her biceps luxuriously. Clary watched as the two joyfully shuffled on heavy feet among the throngs of demon- borne. The way they moved, their bare feet were all the more noticeable, and as they moved away the Shadow hunter girl couldn't help but notice they left behind smoldering bursts of flame where they stumbled about.

One of the deviations stopped before her, and Clary could hear the short intake of breath from her mother as the demon woman ran her finger contemplatively along her neckline to her collar, before pulling it away to expose a brilliantly light patch of flesh nestled in her shoulder blade. It seemed to sway her for a moment of interest.

Fear seized her then as she tried to remember her strength. All the heavenly figures she had spent so long invoking, memorizing and in her own way, worshiping, had abandoned her. Only one stayed her hand, the Creator. Invoking his wrath was condemnable in Shadow hunter society, a weakness, and a breach in protocol. Still, Raziel floated on the tip of her tongue, begging to be released. Hands coming forth to wield the blade she would summon, Clary gasped for air as it sizzled out of her lungs stagnantly, the smell of corpses choking her as the demon at her feet stirred "Ra-"

Laughter cut her off faster than the lack of fresh air as her eyes roved back to the woman that had bore these two horrors. She shook with her mirth, hands wrapped along her biceps still as if to stop the bleeding, "Your king is unwelcome here, my dear. I've already told you, besides. Your father has condemned you and yours. I have not lost such faith. I will protect me and mine."

The abomination beside her trembled as it approached her with interest. Face upturned, the deviation looked the Nephilim girl over for some worth. Still shaking, Clary closed her eyes, refusing to watch what might happen next. A pair of fiery warm lips pressed to her forehead, scalding her as a hand brushed her hair out of her face lovingly before the stagnant air disappeared altogether.

The darkness behind her eyes was enticing, promising safety and she wanted to believe the false promises it wielded. She tried to think of Jace, of Isabelle and Alec, and of her brother, and the comforts of Idris. Childhood seemed so far behind her merely months before and only now did she understand how in the middle of it she still was. She wasn't ready to die, she wasn't ready to face this great of an evil. She was barely ready to tell her father she wanted to change the color of her wallpaper. Taking a shuddering breath, the warm touch against her forehead broke her out of it and into a fight or flight adrenaline. Green eyes flying open, she found herself blinking at the openly loving expression of the demon woman.

Its breath shuddered, lips a breath away from her neck as it breathed out a promise that sent a chill down her spine. "I will watch over your travels with great interest, little Nephilim." The woman smiled hauntingly as she looked off in the distance just passed Clary's head. The hand slid from her collar to cup the nape of her neck, and hesitantly, the second rose as if to brush away a strand of hair only to give pause a breath away. It trembled. "Much more than any one else of your forsaken race would deserve. You are marked by the hand of heaven, Clarissa. You move with more ethereal wrath than any of your kind. Make _**every**_ step _**sacred**_."

To make a point, the creature dragged its claw against the voyance rune, pricking open a line over it. Turning off she skipped down with a bounce to her step to the Vampire countess who seemed pleased with being chosen the moment the clawed hand found its way to her silken tresses. Its legs folded as it brought itself down to Camille's level, and her thin arms rose weakly, offering her the gory bouquet, "For you, my queen."

Lips pressed to her forehead the same as she had done to Clary, hand petting her corn silk hair once more lovingly before she took the bountiful offering from her. Inhaling the bound flowers, the woman took it to her mother, lying it at her feet with a twisted bow before scurrying back into the crowd when the sacrifice was not great enough.

Looking down at the back of her arm, Clary was surprised to find a mark lying over the rune not matching it but of something as familiar as the first mark laid into her flesh. The angles were sharper, but it roughly matched the mark on her hip, the birthmark she had hidden away from childhood.

"Hark! What have we here?!" the woman cried, sending the gathering into a shuddering mass of writhing flesh. Some of the more daring souls looked alert, more vampire than that of the werewolves, but Clary found herself looking not about like them but up as a rustling caught her attention overhead. Hundreds of faeries had gathered, lingering in the trees in the colors of muddled silvers and greens, the colors of an early winter frost. The whole lot looked pleased to be certain, dangerous and twisted, gawking at the gathering with a cackling mirth and crooked fanged smiles. How had she not noticed them until then when she had been so intent earlier to know who exactly had shown up?

The demoness turned her attention skyward too, and soon one- by- one her worshipers looked upward as well to the faerie courts that had made themselves comfortable above. Clary quickly found a woman that could have been her sister for all their similarities, a wicked smile upon her bow shaped lips as she clung to a far taller man wearing a elk mask. He bowed to speak to her while still retaining his regal appearance. He seemed to stoop for her, not bend to her, and the difference made him seem all the more important. The faerie woman turned a cool smile to the demoness, "The Hunt has alerted me that we have late arrivals, my Queen. "

"Fashionably late, but not without tribute!" A deep voice called from behind the demoness as a shimmering wave of energy swirled. The man was very well dressed, perhaps better than anyone she had ever met before, and the tips of his hair was a prismatic rainbow that set off his golden eyes sharply. Behind him stepped out two others before the portal sealed altogether.

"Magnus Bane? To what honor do I owe the privileged?"

Snorting, the man looked along the lowest hanging branches "Privileged indeed. I have a deal I wish to strike with you on the behalf of one of my own."

"A deal?"

"A commission. _**Of parentage.**_"

"Who?"

"I think you know who I wish to speak with, Hecate."

A sharp snarl threatened to erupt the gathering into a frenzy until the faerie knight that had spoken before fell from his tree to stand beside the demoness, kneeling in the process. The weight of his fall reminded her of a dead body crumpling and not someone falling off a branch, but he remained mobile and unfazed. The gathering on the other hand, stirred to silence.

"Why does she not seek me out?"

"I've said nothing about a woman."

"You didn't have to, my sweet prince. Who else would you care enough for to ask anything of me? To come out of hiding, other than for _**her**_? She is well I hope. I didn't mean to scare her the last time we met, I assure you. "Turning her attention, the devilishly shaped woman smiled at the knight at her feet, "Gwynn?"

"My Queen." his gloved hands grasped her sharply terminating one in a gesture of reverance.

"What does the Hunt require from the Spiral Labryinth?"

_**Warlocks. **_Clary sought out the man again, drinking in the first being she had come across of the race. He seemed practially human, far more mortal than anyone else in the forest with her today, but the cat-like gaze gave him away. Beside him were a man and a woman with the same silvery whitte hair, a brooding green skinned man with horns growing from his forehead, who distrustfully looked about him and a blue-bruise fleshed girl covered with flowers that had her arms firmly planted before her holding a large tome to her thighs. No others had come with them, and they seemed vastly outnumbered to be demanding anything from someone commanding sich a large gathering.

"Nothing, my lady. We do with what little magic we can conjur. But if one of their ranks were to wish to join the ranks..."

"And we don't."

Ignoring the warlocks momentarily, her attention tunneled upon the commander of her warriors. "The Knights? How many would you like of those...?"

"Three, my lady, to replace those that have taken their leave of our guard."

More likely that they had spoken a wanting to leave and gotten themselved killed for it. Undoubtedly that was how most left the Wild Hunt, and Clary had no doubt that it was just assumed.

"And what traits would you have for your knights, Gwynn? Strong, fearless, noble?"

"Whatever you think is best, My Queen."

"Daughters, I think you know what to bring me." Both nodded from their forgotten places before moving on with the culling of gifts. Now confident of their footing, the clones frolicked too and fro along the throngs, bouncing from small gaps in thighs to treading on the poor fools where there wasn't enough room.

Turning to look at her mother, the clone smiled wickedly before disappearing behind the treeline that the werewolves had come from and fell mostly before.

Stumbling in the arms of the corpse-like creature, Simon was drug out of his hiding spot and back into the group, his panicked brown eyes seeking out Clary's as he was dragged towards her. In an instant the names of heavenly figures that had forsaken her flooded to the surface and her hands moved without thought, "Michael!"

"Raphael!" the name hung heavy in the air as the boy's arm turned awkwardly and his own seraph blade pressed against his neck as the clone which had invoked it smiled humorously, "What of this Nephilim boy, Greymark? He is not your bride's child nor is he one of your ranks."

Luke knew it was only a matter of time before the boy was found out. "My daughter's parabatai."

"He is the sacrifice I ask for. Give him over to my service and all payment will be met for this dishonesty."

"We have a deal?" All the same, the deviation dragged the boy down towards Gwynn app Nudd and Hecate as Luke remained silent as death, knowing he could not refute her.

"But ohhhhhh" the left head purred, a cadence so light that it sounded innocent in its call. She pressed the blade against Simon's throat as she pondered over the thoughts flitting along her vision, "what happens if he-"

"No, no." The right head interjected; silencing the left, "that would never happen. The Nightshades-"

"Have grown too many years old. Surely. But what if-"

"Absolutely not." The middle head cut off the other two and the host body crossed its arms over its chest in agitation. The arguing two fell silent and Clary watched as they looked to the center as if they could see into her gaze if they looked hard enough. The Nephilim girl wondered curiously why an entity would cross itself, or how the three heads managed to have their own personality, however slight, within mere moments.

The thought had her dizzier than when the Greater Demon broke into thirds. "I believe a moment like this calls for decorum and decision. His, dear sisters, not ours."

"Lucian, my dear, would you do me the honor?"

Crawling up to the werewolf king, the right clone offered him a dagger. With a sneer, Luke took the archaic tool, and after a moments consideration, the jagged blade curled into his hand and blood blossomed from the wound, dripping languidly down the crease in his palm and into hers.

The woman summoned up three cups, each filled with a crimson liquid. The sacrificed blood from Lucian's hands and her own were swiped into the goblets in a spiraling mass that couldn't be followed by their meek eyesight and the woman stood by, pleased with herself while the other two entities egged on her massive ego.

"Before you, young half blood, I set a choice, your future to seize. In these three cups, you will find the poision, the pain, and the cure- a Pinot if I'm not mistaken. The decision is yours, of course. Will you drink and seize your destiny or will you burn away your flesh and join the hunt?"

"How do I have a chance at guessing? I don't know you enough to deduce which cup you may have poisoned."

A smile spread over her lips as she pressed the young boy towards the options she had given him, "Such is the crossroads, poor boy. I will, however leave you with a bit of literature, for, woe, your kind is so negligent on the written word May it make your decision easier. Three paths diverged in the woods and I-"

"I took the one less traveled."

Shocked, Hecate's lips pulled back into a genuine smile as she nodded, kneeling beside the boy, "Yes. Yes that's right."

His hand touched the left one for a moment, his eyes looking to the woman whos head rested right beside the goblet, before trading off to seize up the right one. Downing it with one go, he winced at the taste. Bitter, it wasn't blood, but it wasn't the same as the ceremonial wines he had little experience with. It layed thickly across his throat, chocking him almost as he smacked his tongue along his teeth to try to bite the feeling back into it.

Hecate smiled maliciously and she shook her head slowly. Simon saw nothing as his vision swam, and his hand came foward to grab the edge of the table as he shook.

"Wrong Simon..." Her voice was a cackling purr as she drew upwards and wrung her hands together thoughtfully, "So very, very much wrong..."

"Take him from here!" The woman commanded her general, whom had moved in the preceeding pomp and circumstance to stand aloof beside a tree; just as she approached, Gwynn seized the boy by his shoulders, a heavy grip that settled like forboding death; the man was faerie born, she could see it now that he had drawn his mask far enough up his face, and wild looking with a stringless bow in his hand which he aptly used as a crook to drag her parabatai away. The woman watched loftily, "take him to a place that he will not trace his own steps back here."

Loftily, her head lifted, throwing her thick hair askew, her fingers pressing lightly to her lips to blow a kiss to the Nephilim boy whom barely had the strength to struggle in the Faerie Knight's grip. "Fare thee well little Nephilim. Always remember your mother, and one day she might repay your homage to her. Live long, and do try to return here. I would love to hear of your _**glorious**_ struggles!"

The sawing laugh chewed and grated at Clary's nerves and she was left to wonder what it did to Simon. It took her only a few moments to realize that he was being spirited away and there wasn't anything that could be done.

"Simon no!" Even still she lurched forward in a mad attempt to catch at the armed soldiers loose chain-mail or perhaps the flailing arm she would hold on to victoriously if she managed to snatch it. _** For whither thou goest, I will go**_. The vow was now a deafening pounding in her thigh and her heart as both strained to keep Simon with her. Vianey's boney frame slammed against her's, anchoring her in her place as the boy disappeared from sight with a blip of smoke.

Screaming, her fist swung downward, wringing a vicious snarl from the werewolf girl. Legs bore down as the elder girl wrestled her back, and under her larger form.

Kicking out, Clary knocked the leg out from beneath her friend, trying to roll before her heavier weight. Her knee went, and all she got for her struggles was the hard weight of her hands against her shoulders, baring her down, "Damnit bitch, don't you understand, I'm trying to protect you from yourself!"

A yelp screached out of Vianey then, and her hands raked upward, behind her to claw as she was wrenched backward off her knees. Weakly she tried to catch purchase, but the attacker was far taller.

"Unhand my parabatai, you bitch."

Clary could have cried at the sight of Isabelle Lightwood in all of her fiery splendor.

**_XOX_**

Author's note:

I'm baaaaaackkk.

And at long last I've introduced you to not only the villain (or villianess, in this case), but I've dropped you into the part where _**actual **_plot line has began again. SO excited. Hopefully I'll find inspiration to post quicker now that were out of the muck it took to get here.

Thank you for your continued support. As always, I LOVE to hear from you all. Enjoyed something you read? Share the Love. Fave, Follow Review.

Till Next time

With Much Love

TAORI


End file.
