#ofc the ears but i think she has a green tint to her skin

[aha-chuu]

Can't decide whether I prefer Neuvillette looking like an old man (white hair + grandpa demeanour + dad vibes for all the melusine) or if I like him looking like a pretty, youthful model (super young by dragon years + in game model baby-face + actually very inexperienced in human conduct = immature?)

All the fanart I see kind of just picks one but idkkkk,,, I sort of enjoy the idea that he's kinda young looking but talks and acts very very old because, you know, in human terms he is very old. And everyone in Fontaine is used to it cos they all know he's not human and appearance ≠ reality. But people usually see him from pretty far away in the Opera house, so they can only see the white hair and hear his old man voice. So when he rarely does show up in person the public has a jumpscare of "oh not literally a grandpa huh uh oh".

And he definitely doesn't look like teenage or twenties, even youthful Neuvillette has gotta be like late thirties earliest. Mature but not actually as old as anyone would expect.

[littlefreya]

Bad Reputation

Synopsis: Henry and his girl can’t get enough from one another. They keep finding themselves in rather sticky and lusty situations while other actors are present around them. 🤭

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

Word count: 2.3K

Warnings: Smut, thigh riding, exhibition kink, public display of affection, dirty language, slight fingering, daddy kink.

A/N: This is by request made for thigh riding! I see this as a slight sequel to  Putting up a Show and Good Girl just because in my mind they are the same couple. Many thanks again to the marvellous @agniavateira​ for doing the beta! Masterlist is here.

Let me know if you want to be added/removed! Thank you for reading as always :)

PR fucking nightmare - that’s what our managers call us. 

They thought it would go away after our first year of dating. But the sad truth is, Henry just loves to touch, and I’m a hot-blooded woman who loves to fuck shit up. Three years in being married and the line is so goddamn blurry by now; I am never quite certain which one of us initiates it, nor do I even care. 

I see my bear sitting sprawled across the red leather sofas, legs spread open as he can never keep them shut. I know I’m terribly biased but that black tuxedo suit sure as hell looks great on his strong figure, especially with the crooked bowtie and the beard he’s been growing for his new movie role. 

And as if the bad boy vibes and big dick energy he sends everywhere wasn’t enough, the half-empty Grey Goose bottle on the round golden table next to him and the slight sweat that covers his forehead is a red flag that we are definitely getting into trouble tonight. 

Bring it on. 

Armie is sitting right next to him, telling him about some scheme by the gesture he is making with his hands. But I can tell Henry has other things on his mind. I can feel his eyes looking at me even when I am standing far away. Our gazes meet, he offers me a mischievous smile, showing off the large dimples of his cheeks. This is what I call a wet, slippery invention. 

I blush and look away. I mean, I have Rebecca Ferguson holding my forearms. That woman makes me want to invite her into our bedroom, but Henry doesn’t like sharing, not even with women. It doesn’t matter how much I’d pout and beg, he likes me all to himself, and he loves it when others can see that I am his. 

It’s always his hand between my thighs, riding up higher, thumb tickling at my clit teasingly. We sat through an entire acceptance speech with him working me hard. If anyone looks closely at that video on Youtube, you can see the exact moment when he hits the spot.

Sorry, Leo, I wasn’t smiling because you won. 

This is us being subtle. Hotels and parties, however, are a different story. We already had a manager quit on us because we made sure the entire floor hears what we are doing through the night. 

Rebecca kisses me on the cheek, the gorgeous Swedish redhead is already tipsy, and I’ve had my second glass of wine. She’s in a red satin dress, her impressive breasts showing through her cleavage. I also spot a few freckles on her chest. It makes me pout and look at Henry, who shakes his head in refusal. 

“Where is your hubby anyway?” she asks playfully, and I point in the direction of where he is sitting. Armie is just getting up, leaving Henry alone. He pours himself some more vodka, fills the glass with ice and then takes a sip with a lustful gaze. That’s probably my cue to keep him company and take that glass away.  

That video when he told everyone to get naked will forever be online. He also has a tendency to start making impressions of others when he is flustered, and I can’t contain my laughter when that happens.

“He’s too drunk to get up.” I sigh, shaking my head while he makes playful, sad faces at me. I shrug and take my phone out my purse, seeing two text messages from him.

Henry: “Where are you, babygirl?” Henry: “I want to squeeze that ass.” 

I text him back “Armie’s? Go for it. Can we have Rebecca, pleaaaaase?” 

He reads my reply, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in complete refusal. 

“Not. sharing. you. Do you want me to spank you in front of all these people?” 

Rebecca is oddly enough very touchy-feely, her hand sliding down my forearms while she speaks about how wonderful Henry is, and how fun it was to work with him on MI6.

“He’s not like all the other ones, he is an actual friend,” she explains to me, her beautiful green eyes lighting up. 

“I know, that’s how he got me, pretended to be my friend for years.” I chuckle, remembering the times we were still just friends. If you look at videos of us from interviews and photos from events from the time we worked together, you’d think we’ve been dating already. He always touched me subtly, his eyes staring at me intently when I speak. And of course, no one cracks him up the way I do.

But Henry waited 5 years for both of us to be single at the same time to “kidnap” me during a walk with our dogs at the forest, where I’d literally be unable to run away. He did that so he can tell me he’s been in love and growing in love with me ever since we met.

I smile at the sweet memory. I held my tears when that word left his lips.

“I’ll come to say hello later, I’m starving,” she says and rubs her belly gently. I nod and lean forward to kiss her, deliberately kissing her soft, red-painted lips for Henry to see. Us girls, we really don’t mind.

As I turn to face him, he is already frowning. He’s not amused by my vexing behaviour. I give him my best angelic posture, batting my lashes and holding my hands together while my head is tilted to the side. In that pale blue and silver dress, I might look like some saint right now, but my darling knows I’ve come from south to heaven.

I make my way to him, walking slowly, a smile both in my eyes and between my cheeks. I can feel the fire burning in my chest, the sight of him is dashing, those thick thighs ever so inviting. He spreads his legs even wider, the bulge in his groin made only for me. He has his pinky finger pressed between his teeth while checking me out.

My body heeds his calling, I’m tingling wet. 

I stand in front of him, my cheeks warm as if this is a first hook up of some sort. Henry rises his beautiful blues to stare straight into my eyes. The beaming lights in the hall make his sweaty skin glow in neon pink and gold, his eyes flashing bright as the different colours dance across his face.

“How many of those have you had?” I ask, gesturing at the glass, noticing the half-empty bottle. I hope not too much, I expect to be rammed tonight when we return to the hotel. 

He shrugs, putting the glass away without bothering to finish it. He is British, and boy, he can drink a lot. He is not as half as flustered as a different guy would be, but yes, he is certainly quite drunk. Enough to give me that look of his-one eyebrow rising up-while his eyes drink in my dress, cleavage, ass, and that slit that runs from my legs to my thighs.

My friends asked me if Henry is an ass or tits man, to which my answer was “he is ‘all of me’ man.” 

“Gotta love women's liberation.” He speaks in a deep, low voice, gesturing at my provocative dress. 

“Come to daddy.” He demands, holding out his hand for me to come and sit on his thigh. To which I am more than happy to comply.

I spread my legs, moving to straddle his muscular thigh. There is a burning sensation at my core as my pelvis meets his taut muscle. My body always reacts to his touch. Henry’s hands immediately take my face, thumbs stroking at my cheeks.

“Why do you tease me, beautiful?” he murmurs, his fierce gaze tracing my face, always taken by me, memorizing every freckle and flaw as if it’s the first time we ever sit so close. God, he makes me feel so beautiful even in my ugliest of ugly days.

I lean forward to get even closer, my ass riding up his leg and my hands reach out to tug at his white buttoned shirt. “Oh, Henry-Bear, it’s. So. much. fun.”

Someone sits right next to us on the big red sofa, saying a friendly hello. We answer at the same time, without breaking eye contact. We never bother looking who is the actor, producer, or whatever who moved to bug us. Too lost in our own little mist of admiration. Henry’s fingers descend from my face to my neck, fingers skirting down my neck sensually. 

“You know what I love about these ceremonies and parties?” he asks as he leans closer to whisper in my ear and then places a wet, lingering kiss on my shoulder. His chin pushes the straps of my dress away, letting it fall on my forearm as if by accident. I let it glide, shivering as the coarse hair of his beard marks my flesh.

“I get to show you off while you’re wearing these outrageous dresses and everyone knows I am taking you home to fuck you until sunrise.”

I chuckle lustfully, my tongue pressed between my teeth. “Last time we didn’t even make it home remember?” I hum gently, feeling his rough touch on my breasts. The tip of his thumbs circles my nipples, teasing them to harden through the thin fabric of my dress. I wouldn’t give a fuck if Henry had me topless right now and sink his fangs in my tits for everyone to see. But he is far too selfish, I was made for his eyes and his eyes only.

He settles for a “chaste” show, laying a kiss beneath my chin and then pressing his face at my cleavage, inhaling the scent of my body lotion before nibbling at my breast through my dress. His breath smells like vodka-sweet and spicy at once.

“I remember, Cumberbatch saw the whole thing,” he answers, his hands holding my ribs, slightly guiding me to move my body on top of his thigh in ghostlike movements. I am searing hot, my mound feels as if it’s seconds from catching fire. I am certain he can feel it, his blue eyes now hazy and dreamlike as they watch the pink tint that runs through my neck to my cheeks. 

“Fuck me, daddy, I am so horny!”

My whisper comes out as half a cry, weak and desperate. My body is a void, it suffers without his touch, it aches when we’re disjointed. I hope we’ll never stop feeling this way toward one another. 

“Ride me, babygirl.” he urges me, raising his thigh up higher, so I’ll slide down closer. The friction makes me lose sight for a moment. My vision blurs as I throb wet and hot onto him. Good thing his trousers are black, otherwise, everyone would be able to detect the wetness I am leaving on his pants. 

I can’t reject his decree, my body needs him. 

“You like it when they watch, don’t you?” he asks me with a slightly slurred voice. His hands glide down to squeeze my ass, assisting me in dancing on the rock-hard muscle of his leg. I am grinding slow and rough, shifting my weight forward, my right hand reaching his other thigh, clawing at him with growing pleasure.

Everyone is looking at us, I am sure, some embarrassed and perhaps even appalled. How puritan of you Hollywood. These people formed their own religion and hidden sex clubs. But I am convinced many enjoy this facade and discreetly salute us, some probably holding out their cameras.  

I roll my hips up and clench my inner thighs, whimpering as my body begins to tremble.  

It doesn’t matter who is staring while I ride him so passionately, seeking my pleasure with urgency while Henry’s hands support me, saddling my hips and pulling me toward him. We don’t see anyone else. We’re locked into one another, the way we always did, just like when Henry had a girlfriend, when we were “just friends” when I dated that asshole. We’d walk into a room, and it was just me and him, hearts and chest bursting with love.

Every moment we couldn’t have one another was stolen from us, we now fight to own it back.  

“I’d sit you on my face in front of everyone, but I think Gretchen would kill us.” Henry half whispers against my throat and then licks up my neck as I lift my chin to the ceiling with gaping lips. He has his hand between my legs, drawing at my centre and sneaking between the slit of my dress to finish the job. 

“Fuck!” he teases my clit, his middle finger travelling at my seams. My entire existence shudders. The bass of the music blasts through my chest, my eardrums throb, and my eyes see all the colours of the neon at once as my cunt implodes with orgasmic bliss. Henry steals my gasp into his mouth, his hand pressing my cheeks, crushing my mouth with hunger. 

Who could ever hate us for our expression of true love?

I gasp feverishly, holding onto him as if I’m about to fall. Henry’s lips are on my temple and then my cheek. Pressing against me and not moving away. He envelops me in his big arms, a clear statement to all our viewers that I am his and he is mine.  We both move our heads to see who's been sitting next to us this entire time.

Alec Baldwin and Jake Gyllenhaal. They pretend not to stare, at least Alec does. Jake gives us a wide, knowing smile. Everyone else has also been staring as I hear the whispers and gasps. 

“Really? They did that again!?”

We bump our foreheads together and snicker with delight. Like we ever gave a fuck about being caught. It’s not the first time, won’t be the last. We just can’t get our hands off of each other. 

“Better call Gretchen now.” I tell Henry, hanging my arm around his thick neck. 

“Before or after I fuck you in one of the back rooms here?”

[gloves94]

NOSTROVIA |3| BUCKY BARNES

Warnings: None Pairings: Bucky Barnes x OFC Summary: A lost prophecy. A missing person’s case. A battle to dominate humanity. Only one person holds the key to the domination of our modern world. Problem is- she can’t remember where this key is… 

My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T

[1] * [2] * [HERE] * [?]

She could hear the murmuring of voices. Her head felt like an anvil. It weighted and throbbed in the back as if having been hit by a terribly heavy object. The voices continued. They reached into her consciousness. 'Wait. Voices..?' She thought. After all, she lived alone. Her mismatched eyes shot wide opened. They stung due to the bright lights in the room and all the smog that had gone into them. She winced due to her unaccustomed vision, she pulled on her arm but found unable to do so. Her head hurt. She felt as if a piano had fallen on her. Her legs ached. Both of her arms had been tied down to the sides of what appeared to be a hospital bed. There was an IV fluid attached to her arm. Her feet were also tied down. She struggled against the bindings. She gritted her teeth in rage as she let out a monstrous scream.

'Hide. Never let them get you,�� Her father had once said to her.  Several woman approached her as she rattled the bindings that kept her restrained and bind to a hospital mattress. One of the nurses pushed her chest back into the bed. The other injected a strange substance into the IV fluid. It was then that the Sage realized that there were other individuals in the room who spoke quietly to themselves. "Rowdy one, isn't she?" Steve Rogers said with his arms crossed over his wide chest. There was a hint of fear at the rage the woman held. Barnes sat by the window in the corner of the room. His cold eyes looked at the enraged woman with contempt. He noted the way her choppy brown hair tossed around her face and the frustration that her mismatching colored eyes held. "Uspokój się," Natasha suddenly stepped forward. She spoke in the little Polish she knew to ask the woman to calm down. It was now obvious that this individual did not speak English. "Who are you? What do you want with me?" the woman spoke back in Polish. Her voice had come back to her. It felt odd to speak. Especially to others. "Speak Russian?" Natasha asked again in Polish. The woman eyed her carefully. How long had it been since she had last seen another woman? Had it been four years? She couldn't narrow it down. She wondered if all American women were as beautiful as the one before her. "Yes." Responded the Sage in Russian. "We know you're the Sage" Natasha began. "I don't know anything about that," she denied looking away, a frown clear on her dirty face. "You're safe." The Black Widow continued. She did the best to conjure up a sincere expression. Maria Hill and Steve simply observed not knowing what the two women were discussing. Bucky looked away, yet his ears didn't fail him. "What do you want?" spat out the Polish woman. "Your name," Natasha demanded as she held a tablet close to her chest. "Barbara Bohm," she simply retorted quietly. Natasha quickly typed in the words on the tablet in her hands. The tablet was connected to SHIELD's entire database. A couple of moments later the screen let out some jingles. There were no results. The edge of her lips upturned at the perplexed expression on the red-headed woman's face. "You cleaned up nicely before going into hiding…" Natasha noted. "I learned from the best," she responded in a more relaxed tone. The fond memory of her father brought some comfort to her. "Hide. Don't let them find you. And if worse comes to happen. Hide your death."Those had been his last words to her. "Natasha Romanoff," the Black Widow introduced herself. Her tone was friendly despite her serious expression. "SHIELD has a proposition for you Ms. Bohm. You will remain under our custody for the time being and no harm will come to you. Later we will discuss the location of the artifact." "If the only reason I'm being held against my will is because of said artifact. You're wasting your time. It doesn't exist." The Sage responded, both of her eyebrows furrowed. "What are they saying?" Steve whispered to Bucky who simply rolled his eyes away from the scene and pretended to be more interested in New York's skyline. "Is that why you were in hiding?" Natasha retorted. Barbara's jaw tightened. She was silent for a moment. "How do I know I can trust you?" She asked. "That's for you to decide," Natasha said something in English to the nurses that stood next to the Polish woman's bed. With that, she turned to the men, explained the situation and left. The nurses slowly removed the IV from The Sage's arm. They then released her bindings and allowed the woman to sit up. The woman rubbed her tender wrists in her hands. She brought her knees close to her body. She was still wearing her military pants and her button up white cotton blouse, one which had once been white but now wore a yellow tint. The two men in the room watched her carefully as she stepped off the bed and approached them. She eyed them both of them slowly before making a run for it. However, Steve wrapped his arms around her before her fingers could even graze the doorknob. He lifted her as if she weighed nothing. Frustrated she huffed. Her chest rising in aggression. "Alright," Steve said. "If I let you down, you're going to have to promise you won't run away." Not understanding the language she struggled against his grip. "Don't fight him," Bucky suddenly spoke in Russian. His eyes didn't meet hers. She looked at the man who had just spoken and the wide window before him. How odd was it that the mysterious man with the metal arm understood fluent Russian? She couldn't help but be captivated by the astonishing view of the city. The skyscrapers reached the heavens and gleamed in contrast with the sunlight. Her breath caught, she stopped struggling. She was released from his mighty grip and allowed on her feet. "Steve Rogers," Steve said as clearly as he could as he signaled to himself with one palm pressed to his chest. She blinked twice and focused her attention on him The man was handsome. His hair was golden, his features were Aryan. He was terribly handsome and his eyes were a rare blue that held kindness to them. His built reminded her of a bull, he was a gigantic man! Steve turned to introduce his best friend. "Bucky." He said signaling to the man who sat in the corner simply gazing out the window, paying them no mind. It was a primitive method of communication, but it worked. Barbara observed that the other man appeared distant. His lifeless eyes simply gazed out into the light as he propped his chin upon his hand. His dark hair reached to his shoulders. She didn't pay him much mind besides noting his massive steel arm. It was then that she remembered he must've been the one to capture her. She could still feel the burning of the steel against her torso. "Basia," she introduced herself with an unsure look in her eyes. She still eyed both them warily. Steve nodded the odd way her name of preference was pronounced (Ba-shia) he repeated to himself in his head. Their clothes were so odd. So was their way of speaking. She had never encountered any Americans but they sure were odd. Steve was unsure of what else to say to her. "I sure hope you're not Nazi in disguise," the woman said more to herself in Russian with a slight hint of humor. "Nazi?" Bucky questioned.  She blinked twice confused by his response.  Steve looked at him just as perplexed. "The war isn't over yet," Basia shook her head shrugging and continued speaking in the Slav tongue. Bucky stood up and approached the woman. "What is it?" Steve asked. Bucky didn’t' remove his eyes from the woman's confused expression. "This woman thinks World War 2 hasn't ended," he said breathlessly. "The war ended almost seventy years ago," he responded. "что?" She responded slowly in disbelief. Her eyes shot wide open, mouth agape. "W-What year is it?" Steve understood what was happening. Without a second thought, he reached for a newspaper that was in a trashcan nearby. He offered the paper to her. The bold numbers starred back at her. She felt light headed. It had to be some sort of trickery. Cold sweat beads rolled down her temple. There was no way. There was no way that she sat in a haystack in a cave for seventy long-damn years. It wasn't possible. It was the only thought running through her mind. Seventy long years. Seventy long years. Seventy long years. Her breathing hitched. There was no way. She hadn't aged. Why wasn't she dead? Why hadn't she aged? She looked down at her hands, it had been years since she had seen her reflection. However, her hands wouldn't lie. They remained youthful and spotless, just as ageless as they had always been. "Buck, I have a feeling that she-" Steve began as he observed the woman's dazed look. "She's going into shock," Bucky stated. Just as he finished speaking her eyes rolled back and her body went limp. Bucky's arm moved in time to catch the collapsing woman. She remained limp in his arm with her head lolling to the side over his shoulder. Bucky was about to hand the Sage to his friend but before he could- "Nurse!" Steve was already out of the room and on the search for help. Bucky carried her to the medical bed with ease. He touched her face and her skin was clammy and cold. He laid her and put several pillows under her legs in order to get the blood flowing back to the brain. She mumbled Polish words and slightly stirred as she did. She mumbled something in incoherent Russian. His eyebrows furrowed slightly as he leaned in closer to listen carefully. Her mismatched eyes slightly opened and met his with a blank stare. One of her eyes was an intriguing color, it was the blue of the ocean meeting an infinite sky. The other was hazel green, the colors of soil, nature and flourishing life. Her mind was racing. As she lay in a state of shock. Unsure if the grim were to greet here she thought of all of the advice her father had ever given her.

Snapping back to reality he listened. "Stranger." She breathed in Russian."Burn my body."

[yourfreespirit-blog1]

Fall from Grace

Quick warning: This is quite long, so better be prepared to spend some time reading it.

Summary: It was supposed to be a one-night stand, nothing more, nothing complicated. They were never supposed to see each other again. Yet when a demon ends up endangering the mundane world, they have no other choice but to reunite. For the greater good, of course.

Rating: M (smut, language, some gore)

Pair: Jace Wayland/ OFC

Word count: 13 645

“For all its worth, the past is only good as far as valuable knowledge goes.”

/*/*/*

The last time I saw Jace, he looked just like he does now –hair swiped to the side, skin glistering with a thin layer of sweat, breath coming out in small pants. He had that half-mesmerized look in his eyes, and yet somehow was unfathomably detached and cynical. We came across each other in a shady back-alley club; two loners looking for a good night. As the evening unfolded and countless shots of questionable substance got tipped back, we ended up in a dark room. Clothes were discarded in a hurry, buttons coming halfway undone, some snapping off and flying away never to be found again. His lips on mine, insisting and passionate, dominating and making me succumb to his will before burning a trail down my body as he explored as far as his self-control allowed. Hands tangled in hair, tugging, pulling. Nails running down taunt muscles, over scars and tattoos, leaving a haze of fire in their wake. Arched backs, deep thrusts; it was all a merciless test of endurance. A vicious dance of wills, a constant battle for dominance. An unquenchable desire to be broken down to the most basic instincts, to discard any inhibitions, to be primal and free. I was far too gone to notice that the black ink adorning his body wasn’t a result of mere whims of a boisterous juvenile, but runes. He was too lost in his own dark world to notice that I had marks of my own; ones that under different circumstance would have made him plunge a dagger through me instead. We were both long gone, too needy for whatever this urgent desire within us had kindled to actually care. Sex was his shut off his inner demons, it appeared. He was rough, unforgiving, demanding and utterly demolishing in his dominant assault. How ironic he ended up finding freedom in me.

Now, we meet once again, and he looks as irked as he did so many nights ago when I first lay my eyes on him. Covered in sweat and cursing under his breath, his sparring partner is having a hard time keeping up with the destructive energy he oozes. Mesmerized, I follow his movements, noticing how the muscles flex so alluringly under his honey-coloured skin. I no longer pay attention to what is being said. Magnus’ soft nudge in my ribs snaps me out of my trance too soon for my liking.

“It will take more than a few spells to find that demon. And I hope you realise we are being paid by the hour.”

The Shadowhunter before us, a woman in her mid-thirties with long jet-black hair tied in a vicious ponytail at the nape of her neck, gives us a nasty, haughty look, filled with barely concealed despise and coldness. It’s obvious we weren’t her first port of call, and even now she would rather have us kicked out than admit she needs our help.

“It never ceases to amaze me how your kin always manages to overcome their loathsome, prejudiced principles towards us and come begging for assistance.”

The words merely state a fact, there’s no hidden spite or mock behind them, yet she flinches as if I just slapped her.

“It’d watch my mouth if I were you.”

The threat only makes me raise an eyebrow her way. Magnus probably notices the quiver of my lips, a sign that I’m barely concealing a smirk, or worse �� a laugh, and finally deems it worthy to interfere before things spiral out of control.

“Now, now, no need to be so hostile. We are all on the same side here.”

“Debatable.”

I mumble it under my nose, yet nothing goes past Magnus’ keen ears so he throws me a warning sideways glance before his charming half-smile blossoms on his face.

“What’s going on here?”

A painfully familiar voice comes from behind Maryse Lightwood, acting head of the New York Institute, and Jace comes to stand before me, his sides flanked by what appear to be the Lightwood siblings. Too afraid to look him in the eyes and see utter abhorrence, my gaze strays to the side, monitoring the rest of the Shadowhunters that populate the place. Ever since Magnus and I came in, they have been on edge, suspicious of any movement that’s a thud bit too abrupt than acceptable. The air is coated with thick layer of distrust and hostility, making breathing in deeply unthinkable.

“Magnus Bane has agreed to help us locate that demon that has been kidnapping people from all around Brooklyn.”

Her dark eyes move from him, a well-renowned Warlock that has more or less established a semi-reliable trust with the Shadowhunter world, to me.

“And his sidekick will help us kill it.”

The words might as well have been a hissed warning what would happen to me one day. The venom drips from each syllable, making it plain obvious that she doesn’t want me here. Which, honestly, is a very mutual feeling. By now Jace has probably realized why I look so familiar and has put together the pieces as to what I am. Still refusing to look at him though, instead I study the Lightwood siblings. Despite the obvious physical similarities, the female appears more prone to be approachable, unlike her brother who looks at me with cold, calculating eyes.

“Hopefully, by the end of the week they’ll both be gone.”

Her thoughts slip past her lips without her mind’s approval, but with a little nudge from me. Everyone’s startled at that, apart from Magnus, who looks at me very disapprovingly. Of course, unlike the rest, he’s aware that if I so much as desire, I can make people spill their thoughts out in the open, for the whole world to hear.

“I’d gladly leave this place right now.”

Muttering under my breath, I cross my hands in front of my chest.

“We talked about this.”

Magnus hisses under his breath at me, his gaze not straying from mine. I can see the small twinkles of laughter in the back of his deep coffee irises, yet he tries to crush them as fast as possible, knowing how touchy Shadowhunters are.

“My bad.”

Beaming a face-splitting, painfully fake smile at her, I allow the knowledge to seep into Maryse Lightwood’s brain.

“You little b-”

“I wouldn’t finish that sentence, if I were you.”

We are glaring at each other with vehemence that can easily set the whole building on fire. Animosity spirals around both of us like thick green tentacles, choking down all other emotions until only raw despise is left like a row nerve to throb painfully in the open. She hates me because I’m a Downworlder, the dirt beneath her fancy shoe. I detest her for thinking she’s more worthy of breath than I am, just because she was born with angelic blood in her veins.

“You have no idea who you’re messing with, little girl.”

I breathe in deeply through my nose, trying to put out the flow of words that’s on the tip of my tongue, threatening to get spilled out.

“That’s enough.”

Suddenly I’m painfully aware of the silence that hangs in the room. All eyes are on me, and more than one Seraph dagger is glowing. Gritting my teeth, I exhale and back away, civility winning the battle against pride. A few more silent second slip by before finally someone speaks up, breaking the glaring contest.

“We are wasting time here in childish squabbles while mundanes are dying.”

Jace’s voice is razor sharp and unforgiving, acting like a harsh slap across my face. Involuntarily my eyes dart his way, only to be met with his cold resolve. I find it hard to swallow the lump in my throat, so instead pretend to look away, shame making blood rush to my face.  He doesn’t spare me a second glance before turning on his heel and leading the way to one of the many tables.

“We know that the demon hunts primarily at night.”

Alec briefs us in as we come to stand around the table, the screen lighting up with maps, plans and photographs from various crime scenes.

“It doesn’t have a particular form, so it shifts into whatever would entice its victim.”

“This implies that it can get into their heads.”

A slight frown appears on my face at that new piece of information. Alec only nods, before proceeding.

“The only other thing we know is that it kills its victims by a form of suffocation. At least those that don’t vanish.”

A picture is brought forward on the screen; that being one of the victims that was left behind, a mundane girl, no older than seventeen. She appears to be asleep, if not for the ugly bruises around her neck that mar the skin with a deep purple ring. All of a sudden the sounds around me die out to a barely audible murmur as my eyes stay transfixed on the photo. The more I look at it, at that horrendous and grotesque choker around her neck, the more familiar it appears. There’s a memory in the back of my head that tries to push its way forward, a deeply repressed experience, yet all the barriers put around it prevent it from breaking through. Yet that alone is enough to remind me.

“Are you okay, Bianca?”

Magnus must have noticed how with the sudden shift in my mood my face has acquired an ashen tint. His eyes are glued to me. After a quick look around, it happens that it’s not only his gaze that’s transfixed on my humble persona.

“I’ve seen such a mark before.”

The words are a soft murmur, yet for the life of me I cannot force them to be louder. Snippets of memory flash before my eyes, and the desire to squeeze them shut is a vain attempt to try and chase away the overwhelming past.

“I was in Europe at that time. It was a massacre of unseen scales. All of the victims had that mark around their necks.”

As the words pour out, a pressing question resurfaces as well, its urgency making my insides clench with dread.

“What’s the interval between the attacks?”

“Two days. They have gotten more frequent. What does that have to do with all of this?”

My lips suddenly feel dry and my tongue darts out to moisturize them. I should have paid attention to what was going on, should have noticed the signs sooner. Now it might be too late.

“The only reason she’s hunting more frequently is because her babies will hatch soon. There’s a nest somewhere in Brooklyn, filled with thousands of them.”

Silence descends once again as all four pair of eyes stare at me with disbelief and slight worry. Under different circumstances, it would have been hilarious to monitor the constant shift of facial expressions.

“How can you be so sure? Maybe she’s just really hungry?”

Isabel’s lips quiver but her smile is weak, barely reaching her eyes. It’s a small, false hope she’s clinging to. The admittance of my alternative means we are all in grave danger.

“Because I happened to stumble upon the nest right before the little vermin hatched.”

A shudder runs down my spine and cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. Gripping the table for dear life I try to stabilize my heartbeat by breathing in deeply. Now is definitely not the time to have a panic attack.

“How much time do we have until they hatch?”

Jace’s voice is even sharper now, under the pressure of time and the incoming downfall of humanity.

“A week, at best.”

All three of the Shadowhunters look at each other, lost and worried beyond admittance. That’s the instant when I realize that they are facing the same problem as their fellow hunters in Europe. They have stumbled upon the conclusion that their Seraph daggers cannot kill the demon.

“Your blades are useless against the armour of the demon. It has been constructed for that specific reason.”

“Hopefully you have some helpful suggestions then.”

Snapping back at the only person who knows what’s happening, and most important of all – what’s going to happen, isn’t one of Jace’s best ideas and he realises it a second too late, when my eyes acquire the same cold and distanced look as his.

“We cannot kill the mother.”

Dread creeps on their faces the second I utter the words.

“But we can blow up the nest. That will hopefully drive her away.”

“Or enrage her and make her go on a killing spree.”

“Glad to know you are aware of what happens when you cross a female, Jace.”

Snapping back at him, I don’t stay around to hear what he has to say. Instead I head for the doors with firm steps, my heels clicking threateningly over the tiled floor.

“Where are you going?”

Magnus is right beside me, hand wrapped gently yet firmly around my elbow, his worried eyes looking down at me, begging me not to do something stupid.

“I’ll go and try to find the nest, that’s the only chance we have of actually saving the city. You need to find a way to blow it up.”

A second passes between us before he nods and lets me go reluctantly.

“Be careful.”

“Am I not always?”

The smile is shaky, uncertain and painful. My gaze slides over the Warlock’s shoulder, only to end up locked with Jace’s. His peculiar eyes are unreadable. With a last nod at Magnus, I walk out of the Institute, in search of the only thing I hoped to never have to find again.

 /*/*/

 The wind blows in my face and the sun’s gentle caress warms up my icy skin. With the fast unfolding of events, all the vitality has seeped out from my pores, leaving me cold and shivering. Yet as I scan Brooklyn from this new angle, I feel a lot better. The gushes of wind carry me gently around, far away from the stench of the city, away from the Shadowhunters and their scrutinizing glares, and most importantly away from Jace’s cold detachment. Up here, I’m alone and free. Looking at the puffy clouds above, snow white and innocent, the temptation to simply soar myself higher and plunge through them is almost chocking. A sudden lone cry snaps me out of my trance and I glance over my shoulder. A few feet below there’s a falcon whose wings flap erratically in a sad attempt to prevail against the updraft it got caught into. After a dozen more wing-beats it manages to uplift itself high enough and escape the imprisonment of the unfavourable current. Once achieving the needed speed, the falcon allows its body to be carried forward for a few seconds before making a spectacular twist and plunging downwards towards the dark debts of the river. It happens so fast that I don’t even have time to halt and try to catch it. As suddenly as it appeared, the bird is gone. However, its headlong decent reminds me why I’m currently flying over East River. ‘I must find that nest, no matter the cost.’ Bracing myself for the freefall, my long white wings give two more mighty strokes, propelling me forwards, before I arch my back into a nice loop and let myself fall headfirst. With the wings retracted safely against my back, the descent is fast and turbulent as my body collides with all the air currents that wrack the space above Brooklyn. Only a dozen of feet before collision with the water’s surface, my wings spread out and seize the air. In a single motion I’m once again in horizontal position, flying close enough to the water so that I can see any abnormalities without actually colliding with them. It definitely won’t be a pleasant experience to head-butt into an invisible demon lair and subsequently go for a cooling swim in the dirty waters of East River.

It takes a few hours before I notice that a certain part of the surface of the water doesn’t reflect the sun the way the rest of it does. Diving lower, I see how the torrent ripples slightly for no apparent reason. Flying around and following this oddity, I map out the shape of what can only be the lair of the demon – almost a perfect circle with diameter of two meters and a half. It’s still invisible and most probably protected by some form of shield, yet an unexplainable urge makes me stay and find a way to break in. Using my magic is the first reasonable thing that comes to mind, yet that may happen to draw the mother’s attention and warn her of my presence, thus jeopardizing the whole mission. Instead I opt for simpler approaches. Scooping water in my hands I throw it at the supposed place over the entrance to the lair. The liquid flies through the air freely before it hits something in midair. ‘At least now I can estimate how high it protrudes from the water.’ It takes around five minutes of water-splashing to find out that the entrance is approximately twenty centimeters above water level. Once that’s done I go and collect some pebbles and upon returning I start tossing them at whatever is protecting the nest. At first I throw them gently and in response they bounce off before falling in the water with a gentle pop. Eventually I start applying more strength to my throws and instead of recoiling and following their brothers’ fate, they merely disappear into thin air.

“Well, this is interesting.”

Mumbling under my breath I keep on throwing the pebbles with all my might, which results in some of them appearing through the other side.

Having done that exercise enough times and already feeling a small ache in my wings from the restrain of having to stay in the same place for so long, I fly a safe distance away. From my new spot I can monitor the entrance. The sun is going to set in less than an hour, the last dying rays colouring the river’s turbid surface in a nice shade of orange with some red streaks flanking it. It won’t take long before the mother will have to leave her sanctuary and go on her nightly hunt. At this point, if my calculations are right, she’s supposed to start getting out every night, as her babies will be quite hungry when they come out.

That’s when a rogue memory slips past my mental barriers. It’s like a piece torn from a film strip – ragged edges, distorted picture, yet clear enough to serve its purpose. In a poor attempt to distract myself from the clutches of the resurfacing episode, I look at the water. Grave mistake. In an eye blink its smooth surface ripples and distorts, its colour changing to something deeper, thicker, stickier. Blood. All around me there’s blood and mangled limbs. The smell is morbid and oppressing - of death, bodily fluids and decomposing flesh, and it makes me gag. The space is too small, claustrophobic even, for someone with wings. The ceiling is pressing down on me, and my heartbeat accelerates. The wild thudding echoes in my ears, preventing any other sounds from reaching me. Bend in half, panting and shacking uncontrollably, I find myself praying. Praying for death. Now. Fast. Before it comes back. Before I have to hear all the screaming, the gurgling, the sound of flesh being ripped off from bones, of snapped tendons, of blood swooshing out of arteries. The fear has me paralyzed, blind and deaf to the things around me. Yet I still see them, in the other corner of the room. Packed like sardines in a can, one on top of the other, stacked with sick precision. Bodies over bodies. Dozens, thousands. Some still alive, moaning and begging for help. Some are recently dead, their skin the faintest shade of purple. Others have been here for a while, their bodies decomposing at the very base of the pyramid. The whole room blurs and shifts. I feel sick and bile rises in my throat. The whole thing seems to sway in a sickeningly soothing manner. Out of a sudden foreboding silence grips the room and the temperature drops. I’m cold, so cold. Shivering with exhaustion, dread, sickness. Then I hear it.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

Faint pause. Then once again.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap.

A shadow creeps into the room and moves slowly across it. Each step is a tap over the metal floor. Each step means death. I shiver uncontrollably, a whimper stuck in my throat. The wounds on my body burn with unbearable flames, the poison draining away whatever remains of power I have left.  It’s all fuzzy and the air shifts and molds, liquefies and then hardens once again.

“Ah!”

A sharp intake snaps me out of the trance. Shaking my head and looking around, I see that the welkin has already darkened significantly, the sun a barely visible spot in the horizon. Running a hand through my long burgundy red hair, I try to steady my heartbeat, to chase away the aftermath of the memory. All my senses are still shaken and disorientated. The retched smell of blood is blocking my nose, bile burns at the back of my throat and tears sting my eyes. For a first time in over a decade, I once again feel the way I did for years after that night - utterly unclean, filthy, broken, corrupted. A lump is stuck in my throat and panic grips my heart, leaving me defenseless and weak. The faster the light diminishes, the more frightened I get. The thought of just flying away crosses my mind, yet I terminate it before it manages to take root.

“I need to stay and make sure that’s the place.” Inhale. “I can do this.” Exhale.

Spreading out my wings and stretching them to their furthest, I marvel at the sweet pain this action elicits from the stiff muscles. It’s enough to clear my head. The lid flops down with an ominous thud over the box with all the chained away memories before melting into the darkness of my unconsciousness. Inhaling deeply and holding my breath for a few seconds, I stand up. I can’t back out now. Many innocent lives depend on me succeeding tonight and obtaining the exact location of the nest.

Minutes tickle by and darkness envelops Brooklyn with its heavy blanket. The night’s mist descends upon the streets, crushing them in its stave, sticky embrace. It creeps over the water’s surface as well. All is quiet. The river is lazily flowing down its bank, slushing around the borders of the nest, yet barely emitting a sound even then. There are no birds or cars to distort this solemnness. It feels like the whole world holds its breath in anticipation. At least I know I do.

She jumps out of nowhere and drops into the freezing water with a barely audible plop. The mist hides her features almost instantly, yet I don’t need a clear sunny sky to know what I’ll see. Distorted body, shapeless even, covered in scales that form her shield; carried around by six long bony spider-like legs with pointy, dagger-like ends. The tentacles that leave the scarring on the victims’ necks are twisted in a spiral in her mouth. When the jaw dislocates they shoot out, wrapping around the poor creature that happens to stand before them. Needle-like teeth break the skin and inject the poor helpless soul with some kind of a cocktail that paralyses the nerves, leaving the person as good as dead on the ground in less than thirty seconds. Unconsciously my left hand wraps around my right upper arm, a small pulsation barely noticeable where a similar circle was some time ago.

I monitor the demon’s form until it reaches the shore and disappears into the shadows. Reassured that it’s gone, I fly over the water and stop above the entrance. It’s still invisible, but at least I know how to enter. ‘Or so I hope.’ Gulping and squishing any signs of fear, I rise up in the air and with a last breath of fresh air plunge down fast. For a brief second I can feel resistance as my feet hit the wall, and the hope that it won’t let me through grips my heart, but seconds later any trace of light disappears and I’m left in utter darkness. My heart skips a beat and instinctively I breathe in through my nose. The stench almost knocks me down.

With a flick of my fingers, a small ball of light appears, illuminating the space around me. It’s a long hallway, whose walls are garnished with claw-like marks, while the floor is sticky with blood. Looking up, I can barely make out the welkin on the other side of the barrier.

Crossing the corridor as soundlessly as possible, I end up in what I call the Storage room. My steps are tentative and my feet shake, as memory after memory fights to resurface, yet I somehow manage to push them down. There’s no need to look around, as I already know what I’ll find, yet none the less, I do. And there it is – the pyramid of corpses. The silence that rules implies that there’s no one left alive to moan and ask for help, for which I’m thankful. As harsh and heartless as it may sound, I wouldn’t have been able to save them. ‘I barely saved myself.’

I don’t know what possesses me to near the corpses, or to climb the bodies one after the other as if they are the steps of a ladder. Maybe it’s the need to make sure that I’m right, that this really is a nest. One body at a time, I bite the inner side of my cheek as I climb higher and higher. The pile almost reaches the ceiling. My hands are sticky and my eyes sting, yet I keep on going, trying as hard as possible to ignore the fact that I’m clinging to dead flesh or ragged clothes. Once on top, with sweat covering my body and bile permanently residing in the back on my throat, I peek over the other side. The darkness is thick and impenetrable, yet I know that they are supposed to be there. The glowing ball of light tentatively descends downwards, as if it too is afraid of what may lurk there.

And just like that I can see them – hundreds and thousands of eggs with spider like creatures visible under the thin, membrane-like shell. Fully developed. Starving for human flesh and blood. It appears that the soft glow of the ball makes them recoil, which is logical, knowing that they have never seen an ounce of light in their existence. ‘If we do this right, they won’t exist for much longer.’ Dread mixes with hatred and makes a very combust concoction. The desire to set them on fire right now is so strong that is blocks the warnings all my other senses send to my brain. A second before it’s too late, I push myself back and tumble down the pyramid, taking some of it down with me, yet successfully escaping the grasp of two tentacles. With horror I see the shadow of the demon appearing from on top of the pile, menacing and ready to kill. And then I remember a thing from a book I read once about eagles – while one parent leaves the nest in search for food, the other stays and keeps the eggs warm and safe. Unfortunately, and rather foolishly, such an option had never been considered to be applicable for demons. Smaller in build, but just as dangerous, the demon before me is probably the father. One very angry, very ready to kill daddy, whose babies I just tried to blind. The second it lungs forward, I emit a heart-piercing scream.

 /*/*/*

 The Institute is protected with various runes so that opening portals with specific permission borders impossibility. Frankly, what the Shadowhunters never thought through is that while it’s hard to enter their sacred home by thinking of it, it’s fairly easy to zap yourself in there if you are thinking about a person inside. And thinking very desperately, that is.

Pain shoots through each and every bone in my body. My muscles contract and scream, twist and bend. In the back of my mind I realize that my brain is sending commands to my wings that I have no control over, making them swish around and knock things down. I land on my knees as the portal opens almost above Magnus. Going down, I knock a table, splitting it in half as one of my wings smashes right through it. It would have been painful if my nervous system wasn’t being damaged with every passing second.

“Fuck!” Cursing and pushing myself back into a seating position I try to at least make my wings stop moving around so frantically.

“Magnus!”

The pain makes my voice shrill, the shout coming out as a screech.

Blue light engulfs me seconds later and the frantic wafting of my huge wings is finally put to a stop as they are immobilized by a gentle, yet firm grip. The only damage they can now do now is twitch.

“What happened to you, pumpkin?”

He’s right next to me, my head now position against his chest and his hands working their magic over my wounded body. There’re two stab wounds, yet neither is fatal. What’s bad is the toxin of the demon that’s currently contaminating my system.

It was a rough battle, as my fear served as my downfall for half the time. The angry daddy was slashing and chasing me around while I tried to escape. It eventually came to the point where I was cornered, and the ceiling was too low for me to fly above him. So I attacked, hoping that will win me some time to try and run away. By that point I had already been wounded twice, and one of the tentacles had managed to latch itself to the front of my chest, but only for a brief second before I cut it off. Nevertheless, it was enough for the needle-like teeth to inject a small content of their poison. Frustrated, afraid and angry, I simply blasted the mothefucker to pieces. Only after the goo left behind turned to ash it occurred to me that unlike the mother, the daddy wasn’t prepared for battle. After that I just ran out of there as fast as I could, flew through the barrier and immediately opened a portal, hoping against all hope that I’ll manage to get to Magnus before passing out.

As I elaborate everything that I learned tonight, people gather. Thankfully, while Magnus has me pressed to his body, on my other side it’s Jace that kneels and grabs my unsteady hand. Offering support, protection and shielding me from the curious gazes of the Shadowhunters in the establishment. His hands are warm, hot even, against my icy skin and the feeling of his calloused fingers eases something within me. Behind him I see Alec and Izzy, worried and alarmed, yet listening to each and every word I say with high attentiveness.

“You need to rest. The venom -”

“It won’t kill me, Magnus. By this point I’ve probably grown resistant to it.”

The weak attempt of a smile doesn’t manage to wipe away the worry from his face. He knows that the venom can either kill, or eventually dissolve and lose its properties. No magic or herbs can get it out though.

“I’m not letting you die, pumpkin. You hear me?”

His jaw quivers and I realize that he actually cares for me more than initially anticipated. And now he’s afraid that I may die. Sadly, that’s what I’m afraid of as well.

“The nest’s entrance is near the docs, just a few meters into the water, you cannot miss it. Keep an eye out for the current, it splits and ripples around it.”

The words are hushed and slightly slurred, as my vision begins to shift and blur. Tiredness washes over me and black spots begin to appear.

“Don’t.”

“If I don’t make it, use my feathers. They remember.”

Before I manage to hear his reply, the world seeps out of colour and sound and I get drowned in darkness and obscurity. Sucked into an abyss solely ruled by pain and vibrating with voiceless screams, as a last desperate attempt to battle what’s to come I clutch to my sanity as hard as I can. And since images are easier to grasp than abstract ideas, it happens to take the form of a face with two blazingly blue eyes, one with a brown blob in it, a smug smile and a small dimple. In this place of misery and hysteria, that will be the only thing to keep me alive. After all, I have been here before…

 /*/*/*

 I’m jolted awake by a heart-retching scream that reverberates throughout the room and snakes under my skin. My throat aches and feels like sandpaper and my vocal cords still vibrate from the pressure. It appears that it’s my own scream that woke me up. Flopping back down in bed, with a certain amount of effort I manage to pull my arms up and over my eyes. The light that enters the room is almost blinding. ‘Light? It’s day? How long was I asleep?’ Those and more questions spin in the back of my mind, yet fatigue keeps me rooted to the bed. It’s only when moments later someone barges into the room, banging the door against the wall and almost getting it off its hinges that I open my eyes. Moving one of my arms to the side, for a while all I can see is a blurry black spot with some yellow on top.

“You’re awake!”

“Jace?”

I feel like I haven’t had something to drink in ages, and spend a whole lifetime in a desert. Thankfully, there’s a glass of water on the nightstand, only an arm’s reach away. Yet when your muscles are as weak as mine are now, it’s a deed to actually outstretch and reach it.

Jace comes to stand at the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do. His inner battle is evident on his face, a sight for sore eyes after my vision finally focuses. Eventually, having made up his mind, he rest one knee on the bed and without so much as a word of warning, grabs my waist gently and helps me sit up. The muscles in my body shout in protest, yet I keep on pushing until finally my back rests against the headboard. Only then does the glass of water end up between my shaky fingers.

“Drink.”

Like an obedient little girl, I lift the glass to my chapped lips and gulp down its content. As I do so, I can feel Jace’s eyes resting on me with tentativeness typical for a child that’s too afraid of scaring off the pretty butterfly perched on the flower nearby.

The silence isn’t uncomfortable, but the tension that flies between us can easily ignite a fuse. Many things stay unsaid, or are perched right on the tips of our tongues. Questions stay unasked, and thus unanswered.

The room is vast and drenched in sunlight, the blinds pulled to the side so that I can just make out Brooklyn in the distance, peeking between the crowns of the trees.

“How long was I asleep?”

My voice, husky and slightly groggy, sounds unfamiliar and harsh even to my own ears. Rubbing my throat, I try to ease the soreness with a simple spell. Jace just sits there, his eyes zeroed on my glowing hand. My magic, unlike Magnus’ tranquilizing blue, is coloured in a nice shade of gold.

“Jace?”

My voice snaps him out of whatever trance he succumbed into, and his eyes shoot up to meet mine. Hazel meets blue. Involuntarily my attention shifts to the eye that has a blob of brown in it.

“It’s past noon.”

Somehow his voice sounds strained, pained, as if saying that inflicts some unfathomable pain to his whole being.

“Did I miss…?”

“No.”

Shaking his head, he looks down to his hands. The same hands that so recklessly grabbed and held mine when I crashed into the Institute last night. It’s common knowledge that you don’t touch a Warlock when they are in pain, and definitely not their hands. What made him grab mine while I wasn’t controlling my body is beyond me.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

There’s no hostility in his voice, just sadness and tiredness. The dark circles under his eyes hint of a long sleepless night, spend over plans and maps probably.

I needn’t ask him to be more specific. Looking the opposite direction and out of the window, I search for the answer within me.

“Because you wouldn’t have done it otherwise. And I didn’t know who you were before it was too late anyway. And even if I had realized you were a Shadowhunter, I still wouldn’t have stopped you.”

“Why?”

I can sense his eyes on the nape of my neck, traveling over my exposed skin, over the scars, new and old, over my curves, each of which he has already explored. His hands know the map of my body just as well as mine do – his. And I can feel myself responding to his intense stare – my skin grows warm and tingly and hordes of butterflies flutter their wings in the pits of my belly.

“Because you needed to fall from grace, Jace. For once in your life, you needed to be something else but the perfect Shadowhunter.”

His silence makes me turn around and look at him. His head is bowed low and most of his face is being hidden by his hair, a tangled mess of blond locks. Without realizing it, my hand outstretches and pushes it away. Seconds later the realization of what I just did strikes me, as Jace’s head snaps up and his eyes stare at me, wide and somehow afraid.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

Yet I don’t mention what exactly I’m apologizing for– the inappropriate gesture when now we are finally out in the open and see each other without the soothing embrace of darkness to hide our true selves, or for sleeping with him in the first place. Frankly, deep down, I don’t regret either of these things.

Silence settles once again as neither of us knows what to say to the other. That it was a mistake? That we should pretend it never happened even when we wish it could happen again? That we regret it? He can say all that, if he feels it, but I won’t. Seeing that the topic is as good as finished for him, I throw away the covers.

“What are you doing?” Perplexed, he raises a blond eyebrow my way.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Getting out of bed.”

Unfortunately in doing so, I end up crawling on all fours before reaching the edge, which probably supplied him with quite a view. Finally I feel the cool wooden floor under my feet and flex my sore back, hands stretched towards the ceiling, my T-shirt riding up my body. And that’s when I feel them. One, my wings, heavy and stiff against my back, begging to unfold and move. And two, Jace’s unflinching eyes glued to me, following each and every movement I make as if I might suddenly flop down. It’s the need to move my wings that makes me ignore the general rule of never exposing your Warlock mark before a Shadowhunter. As white as the snow on top of the mountains and as soft as a newborn chicken’s fluff, the wings unfold, filling a better part of the room. Raising them up towards the ceiling and then slowly back down to horizontal position, simultaneously I move my shoulders, feeling the tensed muscles ease gradually. The bountiful of feathers that my wings are lift once again up and the tips touch the beams on the ceiling, gently brushing away the speckles of dust, before coming down in a rush, rising a gust of wind and making all kinds of lighter object move. I peek over my shoulder just in time to see Jace’s hair being wafted back before flopping back down in his face. His very amazed and intrigued face. The small giggle that escapes me fills the silence, muffling the light ruffling sound of the feathers as the wings once again retract flat against my back. Seconds later they are no longer visible.

“I see you recovered fast.”

Alec is leaning against the door frame, his hands folded against his broad chest. For once, he actually appears happy to see me. Or at least, less grumpy. Izzy is by his side, her smile beaming at me like a beacon.

“That was amazing!”

Having done nothing spectacular, I presume she means my wings. By instinct, not being the first to flatter me on them, I nod in appreciation. Only after doing that I realize how strange the whole situation is – a Shadowhunter complimenting a Downworlder, and the latter nodding in gratitude.

“Pumpkin, you shouldn’t be up!”

Magnus enters the room with a gust of glitter surrounding him, fingers ready to snap and send me back to bed, as if I’m a little child.

“I’ve healed completely. I’m ready for tonight!”

“You are not coming.”

Spinning around I face Jace, ready to wage a war over that matter. There’s no living force that can stop me from finishing what I’ve started.

“I agree with Jace on this one, pumpkin.” Magnus puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder, yet I shrug it off, suddenly filled with rage.

“After everything I’ve been through-”

“Exactly because of everything you’ve been through it is best for you to stay here.”

Jace’s eyes are pleading with me to understand, yet at the same time I can see his unshakable resolve lingering in the background. He’ll make sure I stay hidden behind the impenetrable walls of the Institute and no amount of persuasion will change his mind.

“I’m coming with you, no matter if you like it or not.”

He’s about to protest, yet I beat him to it.

“I know exactly where the entrance is. It will take you ages to find it without me.”

Smug in my approaching victory, I yelp as pain wracks the nervous endings on my back. Looking over my shoulder, I notice that my wings are no longer invisible as Magnus has dispersed the spell while I was too preoccupied arguing with Jace. Not only that, but he has plucked a feather out and with a very guilty look on his face mouths an apology.

“Don’t you fucking dare-”

My protest is cut short as I feel Jace’s hands around my neck. The gesture would have been highly intimate, erotic even, if moments later his fingers didn’t find my carotid and apply just the needed amount of pressure. As if someone flicked the light switch off, the room drowns in darkness and my body goes limp. My last coherent thought is that when I wake up, I’m gonna kill Jace and Magnus for doing this to me.

 /*/*/*

 “Wake up!”

The harsh voice snaps me out of my dreamless slumber, making me jolt up in bed. My head pounds in protest and sudden nausea overtakes me. Lying back down, I try to breathe through my mouth in deep gulps, a futile attempt to chase it away.

“We don’t have lots of time, Warlock. Get up and get dressed.”

Still dizzy and disorientated, my head a jumble of uncoherent thoughts, I’m obliged to look up in order to see who’s so eager to kick me out. Surprise, surprise, it’s Maryse Lightwood. Her face is scrunched in a scold and her dark eyes are shooting daggers my way. However, underneath the hostility, I see worry that alarms me. Sitting up and massaging the back of my neck, I try to remember how speaking was initiated. ‘God, that’s one nice technique, Jace.’ Thankfully, she saves me the bother of asking questions. In a gruff, razor-harp voice, her commands fall out of her tightly clenched lips one after the other.

“Get up! Get dressed! There’s no response from the team we send to the nest!”

In an eye blink I bolt to my feet, making her take a step back.

“When did you lose contact with them?”

Quickly throwing on a jumper and tying my hair back, I literally jump into my boots and tie the laces.

“An hour or so ago. We tried to reach them, but-”

“There’s hardly any phone reception in that dump.”

Muttering under my breath a few juicy curses, I stand up and with a last look at Maryse, a mother worried about her children and the fate of humanity, I do the unthinkable.

“Thank you for waking me up.”

The portal opens, the vortex of swirling matter beckoning me to enter. Without a glance back, I step through, the image of the river clear in my mind.

 I portal on the shore this time, thankfully, so there’s no skinny-dipping tonight. With a single fluid movement my wings unfold and catch the wind. Two mighty strokes are all it takes for me to shorten the distance to the entrance, which is no longer invisible. Dred and panic clog my blood, yet I swallow them down. I’m tired of being afraid and tentative in my steps. I’m tired of carrying the burden of the past as a second skin. And for once, I’m hell-a-bound on doing things my way, and shedding this guilt that suffocates me. Delving in, my magic seeps like a golden flame in front of me, illuminating the way. Halfway down the hallway I finally land and start running, my wings gone.

Instead of the shouts of battle, I’m met with dreadful silence. The Storage is halfway bathed in darkness, apart from the ray of light that enters through a gaping hole in the ceiling. There’re no other traces of commotion, no daggers cast to the side, no dead bodies. Involuntarily my eyes look at the pile of corpses– it’s in the same state I left it last night.

Sneaking further into the room and being on high alert, I open my senses to their full capacity. That’s when I sense the remains of Magnus’ magic lingering in the air like stardust. Slowly things start to reach out to me – the smell of leather, the buzzing of Seraph daggers. And then low hissing lisps that come from the other side of the pile of carcasses. At first I’m perplexed as to what it may be, but then my attention gets drawn by the sound of smacking and jaws snapping, coming from the opposite direction.

I let my instincts lead me and follow the sounds of feeding, hoping against all hope that I won’t find the demon eating somebody I know.  Halfway there, I almost trip over something on the floor. Moving as silently as possible, I pick it up. It’s a snake bracelet. Izzy’s whip. Clutching it for dear life I resume walking, still being completely clueless as to what to do if I find my friends killed by the tentacles of a demon we don’t know how to destroy.

The next room is considerably smaller and still chiefly drowned in darkness. Yet even so, there are no signs of any life forms, no movement, only the persisting smacking sound, followed by the occasional ripping of flesh. ‘The demon is feeding. Hopefully no one I know has turned into a hors d'oeuvre.’ My eyes dart up as if summoned by some unknown power and land on the ceiling, which is quite high, with metal beams protruding from it, yet somehow staying only halfway finished. ‘Strange.’ Furrowing my brows at this asymmetrical art form, I zero my senses there. That’s when it hits me; what I initially mistook for parts of the construction are actually cocoons. ‘Storing your food for later has just acquired a whole new meaning.’

The bracelet in my hand suddenly grows uncomfortably hot, almost making me drop it. Instead, praying that it’s not picky and it won’t show any preferences towards kinship, I slip in around my wrist and activate it. The whip appears almost instantly and I allow my magic to flow through it, making it glow in a pulsating golden light. That’s when I spin around and lash with all the hatred I can master. A demonic screech fills the silence, abruptly followed by a hiss and a familiar tapping sound.

“Oh no you don’t, you fucking bitch!” Hissing right back, I make the whip glow even stronger.

The demon tries to move to the back, but it’s too late, I have already raised my hand for another strike. The smacking sound, caused by the collision of the whip with soft tissue is followed by a pained gurgle. This demon no longer has any tentacles left.

Blinded by rage, and extremely pissed that it tried to take me by surprise, I keep on lashing out, the whip sizzling and the light growing even stronger, blindingly so, for a creature that despises it.

“You hate light, don’t you? Well, I hate the dark.”

I’m shaking profusely and screaming at the top of my lungs. I have never felt more alive and liberated.

With that said and as if sensing my next move, the creature lungs forward and attacks me, a last desperate attempt to preserve her children and get rid of me for good, before I set the whole place ablaze. Yet she’s a thud too late for the party. Since the second I came in here, light has been breaching through her nicely packed lair via methodically placed magic pebbles. All at once they snap open and the condensed light inside of them explodes with the power of thousands suns, the heat being so overwhelming that I have only a second to bring up my firewalls before my exposed senses get fried.

The light eventually subsides and diminishes to a barely noticeable glow. Blinking my eyes open, I feel hazy. Yet that feeling disperses fast enough when my mind reels back into the present. Jumping on my feet, without actually having any recollection as to when I fell on my back, I scan the premises. However there’s not much left to look at – ash is covering the place where I last saw the demon, and upon closer inspection it happens to be burned into the very floor. There’s no longer a hissing sound filling the silence, only the water hitting the sides of the lair, some of it dribbling inside through the cracks. My eyes dart to the heap of bodies, and for a second I wonder if the eggs are still intact or if they already hatched and are munching on their poor victims? A muffled cry reminds me that while I have been battling the angry momma, my friends have probably been suffocating in the cocoons.

With a single snap of my wrist the four bulks detach from the ceiling and gently descend to the ground, where they lie down. The substance that makes the cocoons isn’t as thin and easy to break as spider web, but after some irksome battle, I manage to pry open the first shell using a condensed ray of light. Magnus’ ashy face appears before me, yet by experience I know there’s nothing I can do to assist him. The ring across his left hand indicates that his whole nervous system is currently waging a war against the poison running through his veins. My hand feels hot against his cold cheek.

“It’s all going to be alright, I’ll get you out of here.”

With shaky feet I scurry to the other imprisonments and plunge holes into them, so that I can see Izzy, then Alec and finally Jace’s face. They are all in the same state as Magnus – paralyzed and in awful lot of pain, but still alive.

“Just hold on, ya’ll. Don’t die on me.”

A gust of wind whips around the small space as I open the portal. Its sucking power is impressively strong, making me look at my hands with wonder. Izzy’s whip is once again a bracelet, safely secured around my wrist. Wasting no time, I rise all four of the cocoons so that they levitate before me. It’s a hard choice, which two to leave behind and come back to in a minute. A sideways glance reassures me that there’s still no movement from behind the heap of bodies, but maybe they are just waiting for me to turn my back and disappear before they crawl out. Or maybe this whole thing will collapse? Gritting my teeth and shutting off all probabilities, I grab Magnus’ cocoon firmly and look at the other three.

My nails dig into Izzy’s next and without looking back, I step into the portal.

The ground before the Institute appears desolate at first glance, yet I know that the alarms inside have gone off the second the portal opened. Leaving the two cocoons on the ground a few steps away, I jump back inside the swirling vortex, my heart drumming painfully. The clicking sound of my heels almost makes my heart stop, wrongly mistaking it for the clicking of jaws. Looking around, I’m glad for the two shining pebbles of light I left on top of Jace and Alec’s cocoons. The shadows are thick, and I can swear I catch small movements with the corner of my eye that make the fine hairs on my arms stand up in alarm.

“Time to go, boys.”

Once again digging my nails as hard as I can and not letting the shadows out of my eyes, I move backwards towards the swirling vortex that will takes us back to safety. In a last minute whim, just to make sure none of the little vermin will ever crawl out of here, I cast a spell that makes all the small pebbles I used a while ago to start vibrating and sizzling.

“Enjoy hell.”

Jumping in the portal, the last thing I hear is a series of shrieks and hisses as light burst free from its small prisons, setting the whole thing on fire.

By the time I emerge with Alec and Jace by my sides, Maryse is waiting impatiently, her foot tapping over the grass mercilessly, squishing it even further. Her otherwise impeccable hair looks disheveled, and there are nervous tremors that make her jaw wobble every once in a while. And are those tears I see, brimming her eyes? Shifting my gaze so that she wouldn’t notice, I look at the ground where I left Magnus and Isabel but the cocoons are gone. Upon seeing me, she lungs forward like a mother tigress eager to protect her young, yet stops short a few steps away, unaware as what to do.

“We need to get them inside.”

Saving her the embarrassment, I walk forward, her sons levitating by my sides like some kind of mummified bodyguards.

The Institute is like a buzzing bee-hive. Everyone’s up and about, some monitoring the river where the nest blew up, others running around, carrying daggers and other sharp objects. It’s no use telling them that none of those will manage to cut through the cocoon’s surface, or even scratch it since it’s made of the same substance as the shield of the demon. Instead, I merely walk towards the Infirmary, while simultaneously having to answer with exasperation all of Maryse’s inquisitive questions in regards to what her children and Magnus are going through.

“Are they aware of what’s going on around them?”

“Oh, believe me, they are very aware.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She snaps and almost makes an attempt to grab me.

“It means that maybe if they weren’t in excruciating pain right now, they’d have rolled their eyes and told you to stop harassing me.”

She grows silent at that, and a small drop of guilt further poisons my otherwise crappy mood.

“Look, Maryse, there’s no nice way for me to tell you what they’re going through. Hell, I can hardly put it into words. But it’s nowhere near pleasant. And there’s not a damn thing we can do to change that.”

Her dark, almost black eyes look at me, as if she wants to delve into the depths of my soul and see what’s hiding there. For a second I wonder whether she’ll slap me or break down into tears in the middle of the hallway. Instead, to my utter surprise, she smiles and nods, before walking along.

In the Infirmary I find a team of Shadowhunters armed with Seraph daggers trying to pry open Isabel’s cocoon. To no luck, of course.

“Put those daggers away, I’ll open them.”

At first all five of Medics look at me as if I sprouted as second head or something, yet Maryse’s sharp yell “What the hell are you waiting for?” makes them obediently comply. For the time being, at least.

Casting a spell for light is one thing, having to morph the bouncing and unstable ball into a scalpel-like blade is a whole new challenge. With no time to practise and so many gazes glued to me, studying each and every move I make, I close my eyes and focus. I distance my mind from everything. Find my happy place. Channel all my powers and make them mend to my precise will. In my mind’s eye I can see what I need, and I can almost feel it hot and pulsating in my hand, like a beating heart. Easily enough, moments later I have a scalpel made of light to cut through the impenetrable wraps.

 /*/*/*

 The sunrise this morning is a spectacular thing to behold. Encompassed by a brave fusion of golden, pink and fiery red at the rims, the sun chases away the night’s shadows and begins its daylong journey with unseen glory. Somehow, as I observed it from one of the windows in the Infirmary, it reminded me of my pebbles – being something with little attributed significance these days (nobody praises the Sun anymore) like a small piece of bounder, and then miraculously saving the world from its collapse.  

The Shadowhunter team of Medics all went to bed under my direct order an hour after the sun finally showed its round face. Staying here and fussing around would have been no good for anybody. So now I sit alone on one of the cold metal tables near window, and simply monitor for any improvements or deteriorations in the four patients. Quality sleep, unprovoked by external circumstances, has eluded me these past few days, yet fatigue isn’t as merciful, and my drained magic slowly but surely takes its toll on me the longer I stay awake. So now I sit there cross legged, my shoes discarded long ago, slightly hunched forwards, with my wings spread by my sides and my hair free from the grip of the ponytail. Any unnecessary movement is painful and tedious, so at some point I stopped turning to see who was constantly coming in and out of the room. I knew it was Maryse checking on me, making sure I hadn’t fallen asleep on my watch. If I wasn’t so tired, I’d have been pissed and told her off two hours ago. I merely tolerate the constant clatter of her heels now.

Silence rules over the Institute finally as the veil of sleep has gradually descended upon everybody.

“Hey.”

The groggy sounding voice would have easily eluded me, if my ears weren’t just enjoying the quietness of the room. In an instant I’m down on my feet and next to Jake’s bed. His skin is ghostly pale and his gorgeous eyes are rimmed by dark circles. His breathing is labored and shallow, dripping with pain.

Somehow I find myself speechless, unaware as to what to tell him so to reassure him that everything will be okay. Instead I opt to give him some water. Sitting at the edge of the bed, one of my hands goes under his neck, where the hair is stuck to his damp skin, while the other holds the glass.

“Easy now.”

The words are gentle, like a mother’s caress and I can barely believe I’m able of such forms of   tenderness after having little to no quality sleep. Lifting his head up slightly, a groan slips past his parted lips, yet he keeps on trying to push himself up.

“Hey, hey, hey! You need to learn to walk before you can fly!”

I don’t know why these exact words came to my mind, or why he decides to accept them, but no further attempt is made to sit up. After giving him some water, I make a move to back away and let him sleep, but his fingers intertwine with mine, making me halt. Freeze on the spot is more accurate, actually.

Our eyes lock and I can see the pain, exhaustion, loneliness and despair swirling in the blue depths of his irises. So many questions are posed by a single look that I feel overwhelmed. That’s when I see my reflection and my own eyes widen with horror. Due to the tiredness, all the spells concealing my appearance have fallen, and for a first time Jace sees the real me. My hair is still deep burgundy red that makes my now golden eyes stand out even more against my pale skin. My bottom lip quivers. I try to pull away from him, to shift my gaze, but he doesn’t let me.

A single lone tear streams down my face, gliding over the skin, stopping for a second at my chin, as if contemplating what to do next, and then it simply falls down. I can feel a part of my burden falling down with it.

“Stay.”

His hoarse voice and the flutter of his eyelids are giveaways that whatever battle he’s waging with his body’s desire to fall asleep, he’s losing. I can use the weakened hold of his fingers to free myself and back away, get out of here, away from him and the way he makes me fall apart. Instead, my grip around his hand tightens and I lie down next to him, my head resting on his bare shoulder, the thudding of his heartbeat finally lulling me to sleep.

 /*/*/*/

 Maryse kicked us out of the Institute as soon as Magnus was awake and able to sit up. I tried to rationalise with her, but for some bizarre reason she would have none of it. And opposed to previous conjunctions regarding her spite towards me, this time her eyes were aimed at the High Warlock with nothing less that animosity. Obviously after the job was done, we had fallen out of her capricious grace and were no longer needed.

Taking Magnus back to his flat and looking after him, as the aftermaths of the poison were still present, my thoughts kept on drifting back to Jace.  I couldn’t bear not being there and him needing me. Yet each and every time my consciousness strayed that way, my mind would spitefully replay Maryse Lightwood’s words and all sympathy would melt away like snow left in the sun. Eventually, once Magnus was completely healed, I opened up and told him what was tormenting me. After throwing a hissy fit and shattering a rather ancient vase out of spite, that is.

“You know you can send him a fire message, right pumpkin?”

Cocking an eyebrow my way, he takes a sip of his fancy cocktail, his cat-eyes looking at me over the rim of the glass.

“That’s your advice? No warning to stay away from him, or reproachful attitude?”

“When have I ever reproached you, Bianca?”

He puts the glass down, the easygoing mood now shifting into a rather more serious one.

“You have played by the rules all your life. Yes, that saved you a lot of trouble, but maybe it’s time you allow yourself to be happy.”

“But I am happy!”

Even to my own ears, that sounds like a desperate exasperation of a person who finds it hard to even convince herself, let alone anyone else. There’s no need for Magnus to say anything. Instead, he leans back and drifts away from me, his thoughts taking him on a journey, probably back in time.

“I’m seeing Alexander.”

I just blink at him, trying to remember who this Alexander-guy is supposed to be. Blurring such a thing out of the blue makes my brain glitch for a second, before it daunts on me. Probably at the realization my facial expression changes, cus Magnus’ eyes acquire that tint of plea. Not to judge him. Not to argue.

“You mean Alec. The Alec?”

“Don’t be so shocked, pumpkin.”

The room falls silent as I just stare at him, eyes as wide as pancakes, mouth probably slightly open, and definitely not breathing. And then a cackle of laughter bursts from within my chest, rises up my throat and seeps out from between my lips, reverberating between the walls of the vast room.

“I’m happy you find my love life amusing.”

He’s grumpy and quite displeased, obviously mistaking my laugh for some kind of mock or distrust.

“Oh, Magnus. You don’t get it.”

Wiping a small tear from the corner of my eye, I can see he’s getting irritated as my point still eludes him.

“Just imagine the look of Maryse’s face when she realizes that not only is her adopted son sleeping around with a Warlock, but so is her biological one. God, she’ll have a fit!”

The laugh overtakes me once again, as in my mind’s eye I can clearly envision how someone as shallow-mined and stuck-up as Maryse Lightwood will react upon hearing such ground-shaking news.

Magnus only chuckles, mildly amused by the idea, but obviously not finding it as hilarious. I don’t blame him. Having lived as long as he has, after a certain point some things are no longer funny.

“Your sense of humor has gotten rusty, old friend. Make sure you squeak it clean before going out with that ball of happiness and delight you call a boyfriend.”

“Piss off.”

A pillow flies my way, but I manage to duck in time, giggling like a small child while doing so. Somehow this brightened my mood considerably.

 /*/*/*/

 Eventually I get round to conjuring a fire message, and after rereading it a couple dozen of times, deem it acceptable. Sending it is the hardest deed I have ever preformed in my entire life, which says a lot. It contained a general enquiry after his health, and a plea to meet me, followed by the address and the time. I sent it early in the morning with the hopes that it will find him still in bed, safely tucked away behind the thick walls of his room, and not in the middle of a meeting or something.

The sun set an hour ago in a bombastic explosion of fiery red, rich golden hues and the softest flecks of pink rimming the fluffy clouds. A magnificent sight to feast one’s eyes upon.  Now the sky is sprinkled with thousands of starts, all encircling the moon – a perfectly round pearl, shining with its soft glow upon the earth, unaffected by kinship. A low evening whiff scurries around, spins between my legs, gently lifting my dark green dress, before disappearing. The soft scent of freshness coming from some distant place lingers for a second before a new one engulfs my senses. Musk. Leather. Earth. Male.

Spinning around, a pair of deep blue eyes looks at me, pinning me on the stop. He’s clad in black, as per usual, but that just makes his fair hair stand out even more. His honey-kissed skin is slightly paler, and his gorgeous magnetic eyes are brimmed by the shadow of fatigue, caused by lack of decent sleep. Alarmed by these signs, I make a move to near him, yet before I even go as far and take a step forward, he’s in front of me. His strongly pronounced dominating aura engulfs me into a heated embrace, his odour filling my senses and making them tingle.  A certain part of my brain registers that I’m overly excited, yet I choose to ignore it.

“Jace-”

“Why did you leave?”

Our voices mash together, one filled with longing, happiness and faint hope, the other sharp, betrayed, hurt and tinted by anger.

Taken aback, I take a step back, my lower back pressing against the parapet, the cold marble digging into my skin through the thin fabric. His eyes are clouded with so many emotions and questions that I can see his soul chocking and wriggling under all that crushing weight.

“I didn’t leave. I-”

“You were not there, Bianca! Last time I checked, that’s considered leaving! And you even had the nerve to send me that letter! Summoning me here like a dog!”

He’s bitter, thus his tongue is sharp, even when his eyes are so pleading and filled with sorrow. I want to speak, to tell him the truth, to refute his accusations. Instead I stand there, silent and cold like a marble statue, and just look up at him. I’m barefoot, regrettably so as I reach his shoulders, and I can feel all the heat from moments ago seeping into the cold tiles, leaving me achingly hollow. Our gazes stay locked in a fierce battle as I try to urge him to see the truth. Yet he’s too deeply hurt to be rational. I’m too shocked to be rational either. Blue clashes with hazel. My lips part to speak the truth, but no sound comes out. For once in my life, I have been stunned into silence. Jace takes that as his cue to keep on pressing, cutting even a deeper wound into my flesh.

“You wanted to speak. So, speak! Let’s see what you have to say for yourself!”

Spiteful, arrogant, fuming. Driven into frenzy by the loneliness surrounding his heart. For a second I feel so devastated by his sadness, utterly destroyed by how broken he is. Then I snap back into my body and the ice cold skin, stretched thin and tight across my hands starts to tingle, as if set on fire. Itching, begging to slap him across the presumptuous face, and beat some sense back into his thick head.

“I didn’t ask you to come so that you can offend and accuse me in my own home. I will not tolerate your outbursts, Jace Wayland.”

As I emphasise the words, I can feel my magic simmering right beneath the surface, ready to be called forward. The idea is tempting, as I can see the wheels in his head spinning, his mouth opening, and what can only be a spiteful remark looming on the tip of his tongue, ready to strike me down. I beat him to it.

“Shut it!”

Startled by the outburst, Jace presses his lips tightly shut, resembling a little child. Yet his eyes are ablaze with rueful anger, fuelled by his pain.

“If you really believe that I left your side willingly when you were in pain, then you don’t know square shit about me. I spend a better part of my waking hours nursing you back to health or making sure you are provided with whatever you may desire. I lost hours’ worth of sleep and regeneration just to make sure that if you woke up and needed me, I’d be there. So don’t you even dare claim that I left, you ignorant twat!”

Fuming and irritated too much to stay put, I walk towards the canopy in the other end of the balcony and grab a glass of red wine, taking a deep gulp of it. Its warmth sooths something within me, while simultaneously giving me the strength to continue this torturous conversation. Whisking around, I find Jace leaning against the banister, his eyes zeroed on me.

“Then why weren’t you there when I woke up?”

His distrust makes something in me snap, a tremor that has been stretched thin for quite some time now. The glass in my hand, by this point empty, flies his way with dead accuracy before I can register what I’m doing. He catches it in one swift and elegant movement, his eyes wide and funnily shocked. Probably he never had a girl hurl a glass at his head.

“Because I was kicked out, you idiot! Maryse threw us out as soon as Magnus was awake! But I recon she elaborated a completely different story to you. And you being you, never even thought of questioning her. ”

By this point hurt has seeped in alongside the anger, and my voice resumes its normal decibels, if not even dropping a note lower. Jace is shocked into silence. His whole countenance has shifted from active-aggressive to remorseful in the blink of an eye. The cockiness and anger are gone. The heat in his eyes is extinguished by the truth, leaving only chilling realisation and sorrow behind.

“If you thought I have left you, why did you even bother coming?”

It’s time for me to be spiteful. I can no longer bear to look at him, at his sullen face, so I turn around and evoke another glass of wine, before sitting down on the canopy and rising my legs up. This way, leaning sideways, propped on the hand rest and surrounded by pillows, I get to look at Brooklyn, peeking over the parapet. A lump I cannot swallow has blocked my throat, preventing any further words from being spoken. ‘Maybe enough was said for tonight.’

He nears me silently, tentatively, as if one wrong move can cost him his life, before sitting at the edge of the canopy, his hands playing with the wine glass. The silence settles like a thick woollen blanket, suffocating us with its tension.

“It was killing me, not knowing if you had survived the toxin or not. I spend every single day trying to find a way to get information about your wellbeing.”

Silence. A stolen glance. Quickly averted eyes. My voice is thick with emotions I can no longer suppress.

“I had to find out from Alec that you hadn’t died in excruciating agony.”

“Alec?”

His voice is hoarse and somewhat foreign.

“He came to see Magnus. I just happened to be there.”

Silence descends once again, this time filled with less tension and more remorse. The playful night’s air once again dances across the balcony, lifting my dress slightly higher up my leg, showing off nicely shaped muscles, embraced by tanned skin. My hair gets twirled around for a second, pushed away from my face, before as if by a whim, brought back forward, falling down my chest. A sideways glance informs me that Jace took notice of all of it.

“I’m sorry. For everything I did and said.”

Being a man of many words, when it comes to apologising, he’s out of his element and is as scarce as possible. Tentative. Unsure. But honest none the less.

“I’m sorry as well. I should have sent a message earlier. I was just … afraid.”

“Afraid of what?”

“That you may not come.”

Our eyes lock once again, gold colliding with blue. The soft glow of my eyes, the flutter of my reappeared wings, the striking contrast of my red hair, I can see myself reflected in his eyes.  The real me. No more hiding behind spells and lies, behind illusions and masks.

“You are beautiful.”

The mesmerised and dreamy tone of his voice imply that he’s not actually aware of speaking the words out loud until my eyes widen with surprise.

Realising what just happened, Jace goes beet red and looks away, utterly humiliated by his outburst. And just like that the tension in my back eases, and the sparks in the air disappear. My giggle, so feminine and light fills the silence.

“If a heated argument is what it takes to get you to compliment me, I’ll have to come up with a whole menagerie of quarrels.”

For a brief second he regards me with a mixture of confusion and wonder, before a smirk curls his lips upwards and his low chuckle vibrates in the air.

“I’ll have to change that, then. You are hard to squabble with.”

A chuckle of my own follows and I shake my head with disbelief and amusement. Seconds later his lips end up pressed against mine, slow, tentative, gentle. My wings flutter with excitement, giving off a soft rustling sound and subsequently making Jace smirk.

“Don’t be so smug, Jace Wayland.”

My breath ghosts over his lips, our faces a few centimetres apart.

“I can’t help it. I’m eighty percent smugness and twenty percent sass.”

A laugh erupts from my chest before I can contain it and my back leans back against the pillows, hands coming up to hide my face.

“Cannot believe you just said that with your mouth.”

“Then shut me up.”

He’s leaning over me, his body’s heat oozing from under his clothes and spreading over me like a blanket.

This kiss is braver, more passionate and with less restrictions to it. My hands travel from the sides of his face, down his shoulders then up his neck and into his hair, where they gently tug at the silky locks. His groan tickles my lips.

 /*/*/*

 Clothes get discarded in a rush. Soft rustle of fine fabric as a green dress hits the floor, pooling around bare feet. Unbuckling of a belt and pants hitting the fluffy rug with a barely audible thud. T-shirt getting tossed carelessly to the side. Slithering and a soft swishing sound, almost like a breathed sigh of relief, as skin glides over the finest silk sheets. Gentle rustle of feathers.

Lips lock. Hands roam up and down heated, sensitive skin. Chest presses against chest. Long slender legs get entwined around strong muscular ones. Arched backs. A soft push. No resistance. Pleasure. Temptation. Ultimate and infinite completeness; perfection.

My nails run down his back, leaving long red claw marks to tarnish his skin. They dig into his shoulder blades whenever he breaks the rhythm of our sensual dance, making him hiss and burry his face in my neck.

Our skin is on fire, burning with passion, covered in a sheer layer of sweat that glimmers like a fine stardust. His hair is dangling down and some of the longer strands playfully tickle me. Blazing eyes, one deep blue, the other appearing completely brown, gaze down at me from under slightly hooded eyelids with nothing less that raw unsustainable desire. One moment he’s soft and gentle, broken and worshiping, his hands following all my curves and edges, all my scars and tattoos, all the dips and ups. The next he’s rough and fast, with no restrains, no remorse. He wants me, and he takes me. One of his hands creeps around my neck, his fingers gently clasping around my throat. I can feel my pulse explicitly well, the arteries throbbing under the pressure he applies. In response, my own hand glides up his back, ending up fisted in his hair, tugging back. He growls and bares his throat. We are both dominating the other, yet at the same time being submissive. This harmony, the feeling of something click is all it takes for us to trip over the edge.

Later, after reassuring Jace that he can freely sprawl on top of me without crushing me, I look out of the window, feeling the gentle night breeze enter my room through the still open balcony doors and sway around the room. My fingers are playing with his silky hair, his soft warm breath across my breasts ticking the sensitive skin. A small chill makes my whole body shiver, yet he doesn’t stir. Rustling of feathers fills the silence of the room and I move my shoulders. The wings unfold and take up both sides of the bed, even tipping over the edge. Absentmindedly, I get them to rise up and stretch thus disturbing the empty space above us. Jace murmurs something in his slumber and nuzzles closer, his muscular body leaning even more into me, as if wanting us to merge into one.

The wings close behind his back like a soft blanket, hiding our nakedness and at the same time protecting us from the brisk air that comes in. Just now remembering that I should probably close the double doors, I flick my wrist in their directions. A soft click and there’s no more sounds from the outside world entering. The feathers appear even whiter, almost glowingly so against the dusky atmosphere and the thick shadows.

“Now you really do look like someone who fell from Grace.”

The low mutter is accompanied by a small laugh, as I do not wish to disturb him any further. My hands wrap around his broad shoulders in a protective, loving manner, keeping him even closer. Under the eiderdown of feathers, I finally feel my eyelids flutter close, tiredness overtaking my body. It’s futile to try and blink away the sleep, so I just succumb to its alluring call.