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echo-bleu · 3 years

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Hi, hello, hey! I'd like to request #48, I'm in the mood for angst 💙 Never worry about length, I love & adore everything you write 💙💙💙

Em. I know that by “never worry about length” you meant “it can be super short”. I swear I meant to write something short. I...didn’t.

#48 “You make me want things I can’t have.”

It’s currently 22k and still growing. There will be 5 or 6 chapters, and the prompt doesn’t even come into it until late chapter 4...

It is ANGSTY. It’s a canon divergence where Magnus erases his memories of Alec in 3x19 Read at your own risk and maybe prepare tissues. But I promise a happy ending.

This was betaed by the amazing JeanBoulet. Huge thanks also to the folks at the Fandom Playhouse discord server for all the encouragement and squealing! Especially you Em: I love you and this is a slightly early Christmas present!

[Specific warnings: suicidal thoughts (mentioned), terminal illness/poisoning, internalized ableism]

Summary:

Over the ten months that follow Alec's deal with Asmodeus, Alec struggles to adapt to a world without Magnus in it, Magnus falls in love all over again and everyone just tries to make it through another day.

Alec is dying from venom poisoning and Magnus doesn't even remember him.

Read on AO3.

take me back to the start (1)

He’s in Pandemonium, staring across the room at an apparition with a bow in his hand.

He’s in his loft and standing over a pentagram, an electric jolt going through his body as he links hands with someone.

He’s kneeling in his living room, pulling energy from the hand in his, stumbling back against a lean and muscular body, exhausted.

He’s holding up his glass and toasting with a tall man, whispering words, flirting.

He’s watching the man train, shirtless, swallowing back his desire and trying to find the words to say how much he wants him.

He’s standing in a corridor, hurt and heartbroken, the man turning his back on him.

He’s storming into a wedding, and the man is striding toward him—

Wait.

Back up.

Back to the start.

There’s something bittersweet about being back at Pandemonium after all this time. They’re not here to chase a demon this time, or to offer a priceless jewel in exchange for a summoning. They were trying to get Clary’s memories back then, too, Alec remembers. He was against that plan from the beginning, but it led him to Magnus.

He thought himself in love with Jace, back then.

It’s a strange and painful turn of events that leads them back here. He’s not in love with Jace anymore. Clary isn’t the only one missing her memories. Izzy isn’t wearing that necklace today, though it’s been around her neck every day since—

Alec stops his recollection right there, before it turns into something else. He struggles inside, leaning heavily on his crutches. The music assaults his ears as soon as he’s past the door and he winces. He stays back as Jace and Izzy lose themselves into the crowd. He shouldn’t even be here. He doesn’t know why he decided to come, beside to punish himself.

He adjusts his grip on the crutches and looks around the large, dimly lit room, his height allowing him to scan the crowd easily. He can still see Jace and Izzy making progress toward the mezzanine on the other side of the room. The raised space is less crowded, reserved by the bouncers as a VIP section. Alec can distinguish the couches where a mix of Downworlders are lounging, Seelies blending in with vampires and werewolves.

And a single warlock.

Magnus looks different. He’s let his hair grow a little, and it’s not styled up but to the side, streaked with green and purple — or maybe that’s just the light playing tricks on Alec’s eyes. His outfit is flamboyant, gold brocade on a deep red velvet, the high collar opened on his chest to reveal multiple necklaces. Alec swallows hard.

Alec wonders, even now, if Magnus toned himself down for him when they were together, or if he simply didn’t feel the need to be noticed by other people as much when he was with Alec.

Jace and Izzy reach the stairs and briefly argue with the bouncer at the bottom. After a minute, Magnus makes a gesture and they’re allowed in. Alec can’t hear them, not over the deafening music. He forces himself to take his eyes off Magnus and slowly, painstakingly makes his way around the room, circumventing the crowd to avoid getting toppled over. His balance isn’t good enough anymore to risk the dance floor, and he’s in enough pain as it is without taking a fall.

Izzy and Jace are arguing with Magnus, clearly agitated, when Alec makes it to the mezzanine. The bouncer lets him through without protesting. Alec doesn’t look up until he’s made it up the stairs, and when he does, he can hear bits of shouted conversation amid the music.

“—for a bunch of Shadowhunters to come to my club—”

“Magnus, I know you’re angry, but this is about—”

“I don’t know why I’d even listen to Lightwoods of all people—”

“Magnus! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

That’s Jace. Alec wants to intervene, but he can’t bring himself to yell from across the room. He’s not sure he can speak at all.

“I know Alec broke your heart, but—” Izzy starts.

Alec braces himself. Magnus’ eyes land on him, but there’s no recognition in them, only a frown. The truth feels like a knife twisting in Alec’s gut. He was still holding on to hope but his mother was right, there’s no denying it now. Then Magnus looks at Jace and Izzy, his gaze turning angry, and back at Alec. There’s a vague curiosity on his face, a slight tilt of his head Alec knows well — but not anymore, because it’s not meant to be this way—

“Who’s Alec?” Magnus asks.

The knife twists again. Alec stumbles, hissing in pain. It feels like an actual, physical wound. His throat knots up, and he turns away from Magnus. He needs to get out of here.

He ignores the stabbing pain in his hip as he stumbles down the stairs, a mess of crutches and barely controlled steps, and it’s a miracle he doesn’t end up face down at the bottom. He runs out the backdoor as fast as he can, into a back alley smelling of piss and forgotten garbage. The contents of his stomach make it to the floor, behind a trash can.

He leans against the wall, barely avoiding stepping into a puddle of his own vomit, and stays there until breathing doesn’t feel like swallowing needles anymore. He doesn’t know how long it’s been when Jace and Izzy find him. He can’t get Magnus’ face out of his head. The way his eyes slid over Alec like he wasn’t even there. Who’s Alec?

“Alec,” Jace calls him. He must have felt Alec’s distress through the parabatai bond. Though Alec isn’t sure what Jace feels from him anymore, these days. Between the agony of leaving Magnus and his injury, Alec has tried his best to close his side of the bond.

And the last few days, he’s pretty sure Jace has tried to do the same for him. He looks rough, like he hasn’t slept in days — none of them has. Not since Clary left.

“Did he agree?” he asks.

Izzy scrunches up her face in pain. “Yeah, but—”

“He doesn’t remember us,” Alec states.

“Alec—”

“He erased his memories of me, and by extension, you. I hoped he’d remember Clary, since he knew her from before.”

“He does, that’s why he agreed to help,” Jace says. There’s hope and sorrow mixing on his face, warring with each other like he doesn’t know how to feel either. “But how could he—”

“I broke his heart,” Alec murmurs. “He has the power to erase me, so he did. At least he’s not hurting.”

“You knew?” Izzy asks, shocked.

“Yes. Mom went to see him, before the battle. She figured out what I’d done and she tried to tell him. He treated her like she was still a Circle member and he shut the door in her face. She told me once I woke up.”

“Oh, Alec,” Izzy squeezes his arm. Alec leans into her touch, even though he doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want comfort. He wants...he wants the sweet relief of oblivion, too. But he’s not going to get that. Not yet.

And he wouldn’t want to forget Magnus for the world.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Jace asks.

Alec looks away, fighting back tears. It’s answer enough. He didn’t want to believe it, not really. He knew. He knew when Magnus didn’t come after the battle of Alicante. Catarina confirmed it, with a gentleness that surprised even Alec.

But everyone is gentle with him these days, like they’re walking on eggs. He’s become fragile. No, broken.

Broken beyond repair.

Magnus sighs. Having Shadowhunters in his loft makes his skin crawl. At least when he told them to bring a fifth they chose someone decent, Clary’s vampire friend Simon. It might make it harder to do the ritual, but Magnus won’t have to clean up after a fourth thoughtless Shadowhunter.

The two he’s already interacted with — Jace and Isabelle — are brash and annoying, clearly used to the spotlight. Simon seems to be dating Isabelle, though Magnus can hardly see what he sees in her beside her looks. She was downright rude the other day.

The third Shadowhunter is more interesting. He’s tall and handsome, honestly one of the most beautiful men Magnus has ever seen, though he looks sad and drawn. There’s something familiar about him that Magnus can’t place. Unlike his sister, he doesn’t particularly look like either of his parents, so it’s not that. Maybe something from one of the other Lightwoods or Truebloods Magnus has known over the years.

He’s avoiding Magnus’ gaze with a consistency that would be admirable if it wasn’t uncomfortable. Is he really so sure of his superiority that he won’t even look a Downworlder in the eyes?

No, it’s not that. Magnus is almost sure there’s something else, something he should know. Something...something to do with the box in his nightstand, the one with a carved bow and arrows on the lid.

He knows what the box is. He knows it contains memories he chose to remove from his mind, memories that must have been painful – Magnus knows himself. If the memories had been dangerous, he’d have put them somewhere safer. This is something else. This is personal. And something in his subconscious is telling him that these Shadowhunters have something to do with it.

It’s only one more reason not to trust them, as far as Magnus is concerned. If they hurt him badly enough that he had to remove his memories...that means heartbreak. Did they do something to his lover, somehow? Did they kill the one Magnus loved?

The tall Shadowhunter – Alec – talks quietly with his siblings in a corner of the room. He’s walking with difficulty, leaning on metal crutches that make a soft tap on the floor each time he takes a step. Magnus tracks him through the room that way, watching him through the corner of his eyes. Each move looks painful, and there’s something emanating from him, like an unknown sickness. Some sort of battle injury, Magnus guesses. From fighting demons in New York, or from the now infamous Battle of Alicante four months ago? He knows there were many casualties, and there must have been wounded Shadowhunters too.

“Magnus,” Isabelle calls him quietly. Magnus snaps back to the task at hand. They’re not here for a social call.

“What?” he snaps at her.

“I know you don’t remember us, but you know you’re missing memories, right?”

“Yes,” Magnus sighs. “I’m not interested in knowing more about them, especially not from you. I removed them for a reason.”

“Alright, alright,” Isabelle relents. “So, do you think you can help Clary?”

“If the Angels took away her runes and her memories, it’s not going to be the same as simply unlocking a mental block or retrieving memories,” Magnus says. “This won’t be easy, and I’m not sure it can be done.”

He sees the others, except Alec, gather around him to listen. “Once, you helped her get back her memories,” Jace said. “It didn’t work—” he glances at Alec across the room, “—but it could have.”

Magnus’ memory of that day is present, but incomplete, full of holes he knows are due to a memory spell. He doesn’t remember why it didn’t work. He hopes it won’t matter today.

“Those memories were ones I took myself,” he says. “I fed them to a memory demon. Biscuit’s current situation is a tad more complicated.”

“Then what are you going to do?” Isabelle asks.

“You said she has pure angel blood, didn’t you? And so do you,” Magnus points at Jace. “The same blood, in fact.”

“That’s right.”

“We’re going to use that. We’re going to ask for her memories back directly from the source. We’re going to summon an angel.”

“Is it safe?” Alec asks, approaching them, and Magnus realizes that this is the first time he’s spoken aloud in his presence.

“No,” Magnus answers.

“Alec, if there’s even a chance—” Jace pleads. “We have to.”

Alec closes his eyes, looking pained. “Jace—”

“No, Alec. It’s not fair. She didn’t chose this.”

Alec opens his eyes again, his whole body stiffening. Isabelle’s eyes widen as she looks between him and Jace, and even Jace seems to freeze in shock at his own words. The whole room appears to hold its breath, waiting to see Alec snap.

“You’re right,” Alec says after a moment, his shoulders slumping. He looks like he’s holding the weight of the world on his shoulders. Magnus feels a strange instinct to help him, to offer a body to lean on – but he doesn’t move. “She didn’t. We’ll do it.”

He’s clearly the leader of their group, because after that, there’s no protest, no question, not even from Simon. In fact, Simon looks at Alec with a mixture of admiration and sadness in his eyes, and his gaze is hard when he turns back toward Magnus.

Magnus doesn’t know what he’s done to provoke this kind of hostility. From cocky Shadowhunters like Jace and Isabelle, he expects it, though he’s starting to suspect that their carelessness is only a facade. From Simon, with whom he’s only had friendly, even fatherly interactions? Not so much.

Alec seems to be the only one not angry with him in some way. Instead, he steals looks at Magnus when he thinks Magnus is not looking, and his gaze in those moments is too intense, filled with emotions Magnus can’t even begin to comprehend.

Isabelle makes Alec sit down on the couch while Magnus prepares the ingredients needed for the ritual. Alec refuses at first, looking around him like he doesn’t want to touch anything in the loft, but he relents after half an hour, clearly in a lot of pain. He stays with his back ramrod straight, refusing to relax. He touches the leather of the couch almost reverently, and Isabelle just tilts her head sadly.

Magnus is being far too curious about them. He has no reason to be. They’re just Shadowhunters paying for his services, that’s all. He needs to focus on helping Clary.

The ritual involves painting the ceiling as well as the floor, so he concentrates all his magic on the intricate drawings. “Is this some kind of angelic pentagram?” Simon asks curiously.

“Not exactly,” Magnus answers. “There are similar elements, but this is an angelic Seal.” He doesn’t add that it’s the archangel seal he inherited from his father. An entrance to Heaven, right here at his doorstep, even for a Fallen angel. “It still needs five people to activate it.”

“Summoning an angel,” Simon says. “It’s gotta be dangerous, right? I mean, not for them, but for us?” he gestures to Magnus and himself, excluding the Shadowhunters.

“It could be painful, if the angel doesn’t like our demon blood. Are you ready to do that for Clary?”

“I’d go to Hell for her,” Simon says, tilting his head. “And further.”

Magnus nods. “Angels are unpredictable, but this one will be bound by the Seal. He shouldn’t be able to do true harm.”

“So we just ask him to give back Clary’s memories?” Isabelle asks.

“I’m just handling the Seal,” Magnus says. “It will take all my energy. Jace will ask the question. I suggest you think about what you want to ask.”

Jace nods from where he’s standing in parade rest by Alec. “I already know,” he says.

“Then gather up,” Magnus says. “I’m ready.”

They all stand around the circle he painted on the ground, each going inside one of the smaller circles linked by a network of white lines. Alec leaves his crutches on the floor outside of the Seal area and limps over to his spot with a grunt, standing with his full weight on his good leg.

“Link hands,” Magnus orders.

Isabelle and Jace exchange a look Magnus can’t interpret. They’re on each side of Alec, with Simon beside Isabelle and Magnus completing the circle between him and Jace. He reaches out and clasps his hands with the two men.

The pull on Magnus’ power, as soon as the circle is closed, is immense. If he hadn’t recently received an enormous boost, thanks to his father’s death and Edom’s destruction, he wouldn’t have been able to handle it. He focuses his energy on keeping the Seal stable, between the floor and the ceiling, a column of light with them on the outside.

The form of the angel starts to shimmer inside the light, wings folded back against his back. He doesn’t become fully solid, instead remaining ethereal, almost see-through.

“Who dares to summon an angel?”

His mouth doesn’t move, but the voice rings in all their heads.

Magnus grits his teeth against the pain blooming in his chest, tightening his hold on Simon and Jace’s hands. It was always going to be painful. The angels hate nothing more than demon blood, even – especially – when the blood is from a fallen angel. It hurts like hell, but Magnus has been to hell, and he’s come back. He can do this. Simon is wincing, but not as badly, his own demon blood more diluted.

What Magnus doesn’t expect is for Alec to cry out and crumple, barely holding onto his siblings’ hands. He’s angel-blooded. He shouldn’t be in pain. Or is it just his injury acting up under the pressure of the Seal?

He looks barely conscious, his mouth half-opened in a cry of pain. Magnus swallows against his own throbbing chest and signals to Jace to get a move on.

“Raziel’s soldier, and Ithuriel’s child,” he answers. “I am of angel blood.”

The angel turns toward him. “Jonathan Herondale. Yes, we know of you. What do you want from the Angels?”

“My lover, Clarissa Fairchild. She’s one of your children, too. You took her powers and her memories.”

“She played with powers beyond her understanding,” the angel says. “She was punished.”

“I’m asking the angels for forgiveness,” Jace says. “Forgive her, and she and I will be your soldiers on Earth, for as long as you desire.”

Magnus grimaces and hopes Jace knows what he’s doing. He hasn’t had much dealings with the angels before, but this is a not promise that can be taken lightly.

The pain is getting harder to bear, and Magnus wishes Jace would hurry up. Simon is looking a little frayed around the edges, his face screwed up in pain.

Alec looks like he’s hanging on by a thread.

“It is not in my power to decide,” the angel says. “But the Angels are fair. We do not deal punishment unjustly. Her sentence is not forever.”

“She’ll be forgiven?” Jace asks, his surprise showing through his facade. “She’ll get her memories and her runes back?”

“Eventually.”

“But when?”

The angel opens his mouth, but before he can answer, Alec lets out a cry of pain and his hands slip out of his siblings as he falls to the floor. The circle breaks, and the pillar of light disappears, taking the angel with it. “No!” Jace cries out, but he doesn’t reach for the angel. He reaches for Alec instead.

He falls to his knees beside his brother. “Alec!”

“I’m fine,” Alec grunts, through he’s clearly anything but. He’s curled up on himself, his face white with agony, even now that the angel is gone and the pressure on Magnus’ chest has left. “I’m sorry, Jace.”

“It’s okay, brother,” Jace murmurs. “Why did he react like this?” he asks louder, looking up at Magnus.

Magnus shakes his head. “I don’t know. It should only have done that if he had demon blood.”

Jace and Isabelle share a look, and Simon’s breath hitches. Magnus looks between them, but none of them is forthcoming with whatever knowledge they have that Magnus doesn’t share.

Alec sits up with Jace’s help, his hand going to his right hip as he groans in pain. “Help me up,” he asks his brother. Jace seems ready to protest, but he must see something in Alec’s face, because he gets Alec’s arm around his shoulders instead. Isabelle goes to retrieve the crutches and gives them back to Alec, who takes them with trembling hands.

Magnus’ heart tightens, seeing him in such obvious pain. He doesn’t know why—

Or maybe he does. The signs are all there, and it’s time he stopped pretending not to see them.

These Shadowhunters didn’t hurt his lover or his friends. These Shadowhunters were his friends, somehow. And Alec…

Alec is the one who must have broken his heart. That’s the only explanation for what Magnus feels right now. It’s like body memory, almost, a level of compassion and love that cannot possibly come from the few interactions they’ve had that he remembers.

Magnus steels himself against the part of his brain that wants to get the memory box from his nightstand right now and open it. He removed those memories for a reason. Because living with them must have hurt too much.

He’s not going to go back on that and expose himself to that kind of suffering just because he’s curious.

“What does it mean for Clary?” Simon asks.

“I don’t know,” Jace says. “He said she’d be forgiven eventually, but—”

“Angels don’t see the passage of time like you do,” Magnus cuts in. “It could be years. Decades.”

“Is there anything we can do?” Isabelle asks. Alec remains quiet, head down, still leaning against Jace.

“Nothing I can think of,” Magnus answers. He stands up straighter. “Which means you’re no longer in need of my services. Please refrain from coming back here unless there’s a true emergency.”

He doesn’t want the reminder that he decided to erase the last — what, three years? — of his life.

Isabelle looks visibly shaken by that, and she swallows. Alec doesn’t look up at all. He turns away like he doesn’t want Magnus to see his face, and Magnus wonders what he’s trying to hide. Jace throws him a murderous look, and Simon shakes his head in sadness.

“We’ll get out of your hair, then,” Isabelle says quietly. “We won’t bother you again.”

Good riddance, Magnus thinks.

It rings wrong even in his head.

“How are you doing?”

Izzy leans against the door frame of Alec’s office. She looks tired, overworked. She’s taken on so much in the last few months.

It’s been two weeks since Alec collapsed at Magnus’. He can still feel the pain burning through his veins, eating away at his body, each day bringing him closer to the edge.

“I’m fine,” Alec says, putting down his pen. He shifts in his seat painfully, his hip seizing. He’s been sitting still for too long.

“I wish you would stop saying that,” Izzy sighs.

“I wish you would stop asking me,” Alec shrugs.

They’ve been beating around the bush, trying to ignore the elephant in the room. It’s too big to tackle during work days. They go through the motions like it all still matters, the Clave, the Downworld Cabinet, the patrols. Alec can see Jace and Izzy struggle with it, but he can’t do anything for them.

Clary’s gone back to art school, all knowledge of the Shadow World erased from her mind. Alec has made sure that she’s safe and settled, and all that’s left is watching Jace tear himself apart as he grieves. The hope that the angel brought them isn’t enough. Not when it’s so vague.

Not when everything else is falling apart, too.

It’s been just over four months since it started, since the day Alec made a deal with Asmodeus. It feels like an eternity ago, and yet also like it was yesterday. Magnus’ desperation as Alec broke up with him is seared in his mind forever, and it accompanies Alec’s every waking thought.

Magnus doesn’t remember.

It’s a comfort, these days. Losing Magnus will remain the hardest thing Alec has ever done, but he’s thankful for it, however much it hurts. Because it means that Magnus has his magic again, that he can be happy.

Because it means that Magnus doesn’t have to live through the aftermath.

It’s been four months, too, since the Battle of Alicante. Magnus missed it all. He wasn’t there when they all thought they were going to die there, trapped by the demon hordes, caught in between two forces of evil. He wasn’t there to hold Alec’s hand when he woke up in the hospital to a broken body and demon venom coursing through his veins.

He wasn’t there, when they figured out that it was a death sentence.

Catarina slowed the spread of the venom, but nothing she or the Silent Brothers tried could get it out of his system.

“You’re hurting,” Izzy says, walking in fully and closing the door behind her. “I can see it. I know you don’t like the painkillers, but you need them.”

Painfree runes have long stopped working on Alec’s abused body. The mundane pills were Catarina’s idea. She was there in the aftermath of the battle, when Magnus wasn’t, she ran triage with the Silent Brothers and saved countless Shadowhunters. She did her best to piece Alec’s shattered hip back together and she was the one who figured out what was wrong with him.

“They’re not much use anymore,” Alec admits. The pills are some of the strongest on the market, but his Nephilim body metabolizes everything faster than a mundane, and they barely take the edge off.

No, it’s better that Magnus isn’t here. That he didn’t have to sit by Alec’s bedside after the battle, praying at every new treatment, every test, that something would change. That he doesn’t have to watch the venom slowly win over Alec’s body, leaving him weak and trembling. That he won’t have to wait with them for the day it will reach his heart, and it will all be over.

Maybe a year, Catarina told him. If you stop working and rest most of the time.

Alec has done neither. He can’t. He’ll go out of his mind if he tries to rest anymore than he already does. Work takes his mind off things.

He’s still the Head of the Institute, if only because there is barely enough left of the Clave to hold Alicante together, and appointing new Heads has been the least of their problems.

“There has to be something else we can do,” Izzy says. “To relieve the pain, at least.”

“You know there isn’t,” Alec sighs.

She’s not doing well. None of them are. They’re barely holding themselves together.

They lost their father, the day of the battle. Robert Lightwood didn’t make it out of the destroyed city. They’ve lost Clary and Magnus, and now they’re losing Alec too, as his deterioration accelerates with each passing day.

Their whole family is falling apart.

“Let’s go out tonight,” Izzy says, faking lightness. “We can meet Simon and Maia at the Hunter’s Moon. It will be nice.”

Alec wants to say yes, to give her that, a moment of normalcy amid the chaos. But he’s exhausted and in pain, the ache in his hip never letting up. He’s tired of people watching what they say around him. Looking at him like he’s going to disappear any minute.

He shakes his head. “I think I’ll just go to bed early tonight. I could use the rest.”

Izzy nods wordlessly, disappointed but understanding. “I love you, big brother,” she says.

She says it a lot, these days.

“I love you too,” Alec replies, like every other time. There’s nothing else to say. No it’s gonna be okay, Izzy because it’s not, and they both know it.

Someone knock on the door. “Yes?” Alec calls.

Underhill pokes his head in. “Sir, your mother is here.”

“Let her in,” Alec nods. Maryse has been hovering, and he can’t blame her. Looking at Izzy, he can’t deny her the little bit of hope in her eyes. “Let’s make it a family thing,” he says. “Go get Jace and Max.” He can hold off his exhaustion for a few more hours, for them.

Izzy slips out with a smile on her face and Underhill comes back with Maryse in tow.

“Hey, Mom,” Alec smiles weakly, pushing himself up to greet her.

Maryse strides to his side and hugs him tightly. “Alec,” she breathes, love and pain warring in her voice. “How do you feel today?”

“Not great,” Alec murmurs.

He finds himself honest with her, these days, more than he is with his siblings. She’s been his strongest support, despite their once strained relationship, and Alec is too spent to be angry with her as he once was. All of that doesn’t matter, anymore.

Maryse doesn’t break down, at least not in his presence. But Alec is too much like her for his own good, and he can see her pain in every gesture, in the way her hugs last a little longer, the way she tightens her hand on his arm, the way her voice hitches every time she says goodbye after spending time with him.

She hands him his crutches and supports him as he gets situated. Walking is getting harder every day, as the venom lights his nerve endings on fire with every step on his already unstable hip. Maryse just squeezes his shoulder as he hobbles around his desk and hovers until he’s safely sitting on the couch.

“Tell me,” she says quietly, kicking off her shoes and curling up beside him.

They’ve become tactile in a way they never were before. Neither of them likes being touched much, but as it turns out, terminal illness has a way of making you reevaluate your priorities. Alec lets his family hug him as much as they want to now, even on the days it makes his skin crawl.

He sighs, leaning his shoulder against his mother’s. “The new Inquisitor is a homophobic dick. And he wants me removed. He says I can’t do my job anymore.”

“Jia won’t let him do it,” Maryse says.

“I don’t know. He’s not wrong.”

Maryse takes his hand in hers. “Alec, even now, you’re a much better Head than I ever was. You’re holding up admirably in the worst of circumstances.”

“I’m tired,” Alec murmurs. “I don’t know how long I can do this.”

She squeezes his hand, and he sees her swallow back her emotions. “If you feel like you should step down to rest, I’m sure Jens can handle the fort for a while. Until Izzy’s ready.”

Not until you come back. She’s the only one of all of them who faces the inevitable and doesn’t try to pretend that Alec is going to get better. If nothing else, she’s never been one to shy away from the hard truths.

“Maybe soon,” Alec says. He doesn’t want to, but he’s quickly getting to the point where he won’t be able to work anymore. “I miss him,” he adds, his voice breaking. “I can’t stop.”

Alec can’t get Magnus’ face out of his head. The way Magnus looked at him like he was nothing to him. Alec is nothing to him, now. Magnus doesn’t remember any of their time together.

It hurts more than Alec would have thought possible. He’d thought he’d already reached rock bottom, that nothing could possibly hurt worse than breaking up with Magnus. Than waking up in that hospital bed, having lost everything. But that look haunts him.

Maryse just hugs him without a word.

“Alec!” Max exclaims, rushing into the office with his usual energy. Izzy and Jace are on his heels. He jumps on the couch on Alec’s other side, missing Alec’s quick wince when it jostles his leg.

Max is old enough to understand what’s happening, and not quite old enough to know what to do with his emotions. He alternates between acting like everything is fine and randomly bursting into tears, with no in-between. Today seems to be the former, because he starts rambling about his training without a care in the world.

Alec looks up at Jace and they share an entire conversation in an eyebrow raise. Alec keeps his side of the parabatai bond firmly closed, but he knows that his pain leaks through anyway. He can feel Jace’s despair, the way he’s barely hanging on by a thread.

They say the worst pain a Shadowhunter can endure is the loss of his parabatai. Alec remembers the words. It’s one of the things they learn, in the initial parabatai testing. They’re asked if it’s worth it, risking that.

When they gave a resounding yes, their fourteen-year-old brains had no space to comprehend the pain of today.

Jace and Izzy watch Alec like he’s about to disappear, and he knows, he can see, that they can’t yet imagine what will happen after.

They don’t talk about it during the day. It’s too heavy, to much to bear for all of them.

At night, Alec finds himself more often than not sandwiched between Jace and Izzy in his bed. They come claiming they have nightmares or can’t sleep, never quite saying that they just want to feel close to someone else, close to Alec. They say the words, quietly, the words that won’t come out during the day. It was worth it.

And sometimes, where thou diest, I will die. On those days, Alec hugs Jace tight as he tries to convince himself that he doesn’t mean it, that he will go on.

“—and Kara keeps saying I need to work on my defense, but she’s not a teacher!” Max is saying when Alec tunes back into his surroundings. He’s absently drumming his fingers on his good leg, his other hand still in Maryse’s.

“You should listen to her, Max,” Izzy says. “She’s one of the best fighters of her generation. She’s a fairly new transfer,” she explains to Maryse.

“She’s not even a grown-up!” Max protests. “Besides, Aline said she needs to stop overthinking every fight. So she’s not that good.”

“I don’t think you were supposed to hear that,” Alec says, fairly sure that Aline was not referring Kara’s training but rather the frequent phone calls with her deeply transphobic father that send her crying to either of their offices. “You should spend more time training and less time eavesdropping.”

Max pouts and they all laugh, the lightness of the moment freeing them from the stifling sorrow that’s settled between the adults in the room.

Maryse makes the effort to keep the conversation going after that, though she never releases Alec’s hand. It feels good, to have a normal moment with his family. Jace still has shadows in his eyes, but he settles in a chair and even smiles. Izzy’s cheerfulness sounds a bit fake, but she tries. Alec struggles to keep the pain from showing, but he watches them and feels a deep swarm of love for all of them.

After they’re all gone, Alec painfully stumbles back to his desk and pulls up a piece of paper and a pen.

Dear Magnus, he writes. He pauses, and wishes that even Magnus’ name didn’t make him want to cry. Every minute I spent with you was worth the pain it causes me today.

He writes on, until his hand shakes too much to continue. He doesn’t cross out anything, or bother censuring himself. He puts down his pen, finally, and folds the paper carefully.

He unlocks the bottom drawer of his desk with a rune and opens it. He goes to slip the letter he’s just written inside, but he can’t help but stare at the small box there. He doesn’t open it. He knows its contents by heart. He can almost feel it under his finger, the raised edges of the Lightwood crest in smooth silver, the ring he was going to give Magnus. It will go to Izzy, now. There’s a letter for her, underneath the box.

There are other letters, too. One addressed to the next Head of the Institute, instructions on how to keep the Downworld Cabinet going. Alec’s will, freshly updated. Every Shadowhunter is required to draft a will before their first mission in the field, and rewrite it every year. They know better than any other mortal that they can die at any time.

There’s a letter for Jace. One for Maryse. One for Max, who will have to finish growing up without a father and down one brother.

The rest are for Magnus. During the endless days he spent laid up in the hospital, Alec took to writing him letters. In them, he recounted the strongest beats of their relationship, the sweet moments, the hard truths. Everything Alec can remember, since he now has to remember for them both.

He doesn’t think Magnus will ever read them, but he’s not doing this for Magnus. He’s doing this for himself. One last indulgence, since he’s no longer good for anything else.

A drop falls on the top letter, turning the paper darker. Alec jumps and realizes it’s sweat falling down from his hairline. He puts down today’s letter, carefully tucking it in to make a tidy stack, and closes the drawer, his hands trembling a little. His fever is spiking again. In a few hours, he’ll be delirious and out of his mind.

Jace says he cries out for Magnus, in the worst moments. Alec has stopped letting anyone else into his Soundless-rune proofed room. It’s getting worse. It used to happen every few days, but recently, he hardly ever goes a night without losing himself to the venom in his body.

He’s slipping away.

He doesn’t want to die, if only for the pain he knows it will cause his family. But more and more, on days like today, he thinks it might be a relief.

#shadowhunters #malec #malec fic #alec lightwood #magnus bane #isabelle lightwood #jace wayland #angst #take me back to the start #mine #echo's fanfiction #hmdiscord #malec discord server #moonlight-breeze-44 #asks

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sebastianshaw · 3 years

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@sammysdewysensitiveeyes - And finally, Shinobi for World of Darkness, three different versions/games! Under cut because like always, it’s long!

For a vampire, he’d be a Toreador. They’re the type who will turn someone just because they’re pretty, then get tired of them within the week, and that’s how their ranks get flooded with dilettantes who don’t posses any artistic talent, like Shinobi. Toreador are famous for being the most emotional and passionate and in touch with humanity, but in truth, many are emotionally hollow, chasing fleeting highs of false feelings that are shallow and brief despite their deceptive intensity. This leads them to become callow and callous, trying forever to breath life into themselves through new experiences that become banal all too soon, leaving a trail of broken mortal hearts and lives behind them, to say nothing of fledglings that, like, Shinobi, are pulled into this world they’re not ready for and typically destroyed by soon enough. While many people deride them as romance novel vampires, I think they’re actually a very clever subversion of that, and in their own way as horrifying as more famously frightening ones. Shinobi, bitter and wounded over being rejected and abandoned by his sire, has become exactly that kind of Toreador himself. He also strives to be as seductive and glamorous as other members of the clan, and he has the image down, but it falls apart quickly when others question or reject him. He’s also a very young and weak vampire, so he has no political strings to pull, and since he has no art, is looked down by his clanmates as a poseur. All this just makes him more pathologically driven to prove himself and gather allies who will love and respect him, even as he fails at it every night. Also, the Tories are often called divas and “Degenerates” is literally a nickname for the whole clan, it’s perf. I also think he’d make a good Ghoul. When someone---be it a human, animal, even a fellow vampire---drinks the blood of a vampire three times, they become Blood Bound to them. In the case of animals and humans, this makes them the vampire’s ghoul, and the vampire their domitor or regnant. The blood bond is one of the most powerful tools of vampirekind, as the victim is completely enthralled to them, forced to obey. The ghoul is obsessed with them, usually in love, and will do anything asked of them. Continual drinks reinforce it, and the ghouls WANT this, for vitae---vampire blood--is addictive. And the longer they serve a vampire, the more they’ll need it not just out of addiction, but to survive. Ghouling a human (or animal) will freeze them at their current age, just like a vampire, and even grant them some vampiric powers...but when the blood stops coming, all those years catch up with them...all at once. It’s not pretty. Some ghouls who manage to escape their masters---usually by the latter’s death--become vampire hunters in order to get their vitae fix, drinking from different ones in order to avoid the “three strikes and you’re out” Blood Bond. As for what vampires get from this, ghouls have any number of uses, from daytime bodyguards to managers of mortal affairs, messengers, servants, it goes on. The sad, cursed existence of a Ghoul is in many ways worse than that of a vampire, and with none of the benefits. I could see him either as a group ghoul, perhaps, serving a coterie (small group) of powerful female vampires...but I feel like that’s more his fantasy than anything. The reality is probably that he went looking for his birth father, tracked him down successfully, and got a lot more than he bargained for...but hasn’t aged a day since either. Much like Ghouls serve vampires, Kinfolk serve werebeasts, and out of a very different sense of being bound by blood. Kinfolk are the human and animal relations of a werewolf or other werecreature, and breeding with them yields a higher chance of a Garou offspring (since, remember, the offspring of two Garou is a sterile, deformed metis) A Garou birth will still be rare, and most or all of their children will just be Kinfolk, but maybe the next gen will have a Garou, or the next. Because of this, the Garou (or Bastet, or whatever they may be) maintain close ties with their Kinfolk, watching them like shepherds over their flocks. There’s a dark side though. Their primary role ultimately is breeding stock, and many tribes treat them exactly like that. They’re automatically seen as part of the Garou tribe to which they’re related (or worse, its property) and are thus beholden to its regulations, owing them their loyalty, but get none of the respect and glory that the Garou do in return. They’re "valuable second class citizens" at best. Besides breeding, other roles they take includes childcare (since the werewolves are off battling the Wyrm), financing, politicking, and bureaucratic maneuvering on behalf of the Garou, directly or in their interests, are all examples, but there are dozens more things an individual Kinfolk might to do serve their family. Sebastian would definitely be a Shadow Lord werewolf as described in Fabian’s section, and Shinobi his unfortunate Kinfolk pup. A disappointment twice over, firstly for not being Garou, secondly for not even being the USEFUL kind of Kinfolk. All the tribes have an individual approach to their kin beyond the general basics I just described, and Shadow Lords tend towards the abusive. To quote the canon, “[Shadow Lord] Kinfolk don't receive much coddling, however. Weaklings and victims don't deserve to breed.” So not only is Shinobi not supposed to be sticking his dick in anything that can get pregnant, he’s supposed to purely serve his father’s interests while also growing up a society where he will NEVER be good enough. Which...look it’s horrible, but you can’t deny it FITS! (Also: While Sebastian def would be a Shadow Lord himself as a werewolf, he also could easily just be a human "target" of one as a mate. To quote canon: "Female Shadow Lords are sometimes drawn away from the flock toward men with power. A ruthless businessman, a brilliant crime lord or even a military dictator may find himself overpowered by a stalking suitor.") Since Shinobi is half-Japanese, he could be a kuei-jin if he was born/raised/died in Japan or a place with a strong Japanese (or other Asian) culture. Now, the kuei-jin are very problematic, White Wolf (the game company that does all this) mashed together a bunch of different Asian cultures together (even “kuei-jin” is a combination of Japanese and Chinese) and appropriated a bunch of terms they used incorrectly (ex: dharma) but I really like them and I’d like it if one day they could go back and fix them like they have with other creations they made that were really problematic at their conception (most all of this shit was made up by white nerds in the 90s) So, kuei-jin are vampires of a sort, but an entirely different sort than the Kindred are, despite some calling them ‘the Kindred of the East’. Firstly, their range has more to do with culture than geography. They populate Asia, but have begun emerging in the West in places like Chinatowns where Asian cultures are prevalent. Which brings us to the second difference---they are not Embraced like Western vampires, they rise from the grave on their own. Something drove them so hard that their souls clawed their way out of Yomi World and back into their bodies...well, usually their bodies, there have been cases where they came back in a DIFFERENT body. The goal of the kuei-jin is to remember what this something was, for they believe it is their purpose, and they must then accomplish it. In order to discover their purpose and fulfill it, they will choose different paths that they think will be best for this. These paths, called Dharmas, are liked clans, but, as I said, can be chosen, and even changed. Shinobi’s Dharma would be the The Dance of the Thrashing Dragon, also known as the Laughing Rainbows. Yes, they all have names like that. Again, white nerds in the 90s. The Thrashing Dragons are the Yang-Aspected paths, they seek to defy their undead state through frenzied revelry and acts meant to celebrate life (in all its beauty and bloodcurdling savagery both). These Kuei-jin are as alive as the undead can be, believing creation is a rainbow – illusory, but too colourful to ignore-- and their ideal is to experience each of those colours as vividly as possible. As a result, Laughing Rainbows shun society's restrictions, are often messy and vulgar, indulging themselves with wild feasts and drunken orgies - celebrations that usually feature living "entertainment," too. In their calmer moments, a Thrashing Dragon can be gentle and compassionate, nurturing life even though they consume it---the kuei-jin are still a type of vampires, and they feed on chi. They can get it from flesh and blood, but, as they get older and more powerful, can suck the pure chi out of the air from a person. But the Thrashing Dragons like to eat their prey raw, and often alive. They’re violent and combative, in addition to shameless, impulsive, lusty, and having a tendency towards nudity. What’s interesting is that in life, many Thrashing Dragons denied the flesh, and believe they came back due to their repression during life. Some ferociously carnal people do return to finish what they started in life, but most Laughing Rainbows learned to laugh only after they died. So perhaps Shinobi had a sad life that ended prematurely (COUGH DAD COUGH) and now that he’s come back, he’s “living” large at last. Or perhaps he’s one of the ones that was ALWAYS a hedonistic idiot and he was actually brought back as a lesson to live a better life, but he hasn’t learned it yet. Kuei-jin have two souls, the Hun and P’o, and they struggle against the latter. The Hun is higher, rational half of the soul, akin to morality, conscience, honor and devotion to duty. The P’o is the evil bestial half of the soul, akin to “the Beast” that Western vampires struggle against. Each person’s P’o takes one of several archetypes, based on which is most likely to tempt a kuei-jin off their path, and Shinobi’s would be The Monkey. The Monkey is a creature of the moment, its each new pleasure or distraction being the most important thing in the world. The Monkey is capable of concocting elaborate plans to achieve small or momentary goals, but it’s in no way concerned with any overarching mission that the Kuei-jin might have. Indeed, the Monkey seeks, at every turn, to waylay Shinobi from his appointed goal, to divert all of the his attention and energy to lesser, transitory things. So basically it tempts him to be HIMSELF. (As a note, I think the Adversary would translate REALLY well as a P’o for a kuei-jin Haven; India is part of Asia too!) Finally...I might be typecasting him too much by race, but there’s also the kitsune. The kitsune, as one would expect, are the werefoxes of East Asia, mostly found in Japan and China. They are the youngest of the Changing Breeds, and the story goes that when a fox named Bai Mianxi was brought before Gaia (who created all the werecreatures) by Luna (the moon) for playing tricks that created havoc in the world, Gaia’s punishment was that Bai Mianxi be given a duty. Bai Mianxi tried to trick her way out of it, claiming that Gaia's other children were all adequate enough in their duties and she was not needed. Gaia's wrath at Bai Mianxi's impudence shook her residence, but after soothing words from Luna, Gaia promised the fox that in return for their service, the fox-people would one day become the BEST at something, better than all the other werecreatures were at it, whatever it is. Like all other were-types, the kitsune are born in animal or human form, and the offspring of two Kitsune will be born in hybrid form and be stuck that way until their First Change. Unlike the Western metis of the Garou and many other fera though, these “shinju” as they are called, are NOT sterile or deformed, nor are they looked down upon by other kitsune. But all kitsune, no matter what form they were born in, carry a curse, and that is that when a kitstune is born, at least one of its parents will die. Usually, it is the non-kitsune parent, and there is also a one-in-ten chance that the Kitsune parent may die, either instead of, or along with, their mate. So my thinking is kitsune Shinobi was born in human form in Japan to a kitsune mother, but has a human white dad in America (Sebastian obvy) who despite the great distance still passed away mysteriously at the moment Shinobi drew his first breath. And so Shinobi grew up raised by his mother and her Kinfolk, and he never saw his father and he grew up feeling loved and wanted, and now he is a happy healthy adult werefox who will indeed be the best at something one day! You can see why I wanted this for him ^^

#world of darkness #vampire the masquerade #werewolf the apocalypse #kindred of the east #out of shirt

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blog-sliverofjade · 3 years

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Of Doms & Subs 4: Bribery Will Get You Everywhere

Pairing: Angus Hopper x OFC

Summary: What's a submissive female to do when she fights her nature and goes on the run as a Lone wolf to avoid being assimilated into a pack?

Word count: 2315

Of Doms & Subs Master List

Sleeping in was something I used to enjoy. Nestled in warm sheets while the world outside continued to turn, safe in a cozy cocoon. After the Change, it was no longer so peaceful. Although the house was decently soundproofed for humans, I could hear water running as someone showered. The buzz of an electric razor. Clinking of dishes in the kitchen. After ten minutes of hiding with a pillow over my head, I gave up and burrowed out of the nest of blankets. I was just pulling my shirt on when Mickayla knocked. A thrill of pride ran through me for recognizing her scent. I was getting better at this!

“Mornin’,” I called out and she came in at the tone of invitation in my greeting.

“How was your little adventure last night?” she grinned.

“Mortifying,” I grumped while tugging a brush through my hair.

“So if I tell you that there’s a betting pool on when you’d make a break for it we can see if werewolves die of embarrassment?” Her grin deepened to flash a lot of pretty, white teeth.

“How about you give me a cut and I don’t throw my dirty, wet socks in your face?” I started to reach for the duffel full of dirty clothes. She laughed and handed me a couple of bills, which I stuffed into a pocket without counting. “Next time let me know, I’m not above taking a fall.”

“There’s going to be a next time?” A perfectly plucked eyebrow rose.

“Eugene and Seattle aren’t all that far.” I turned away to wrestle my hair into a ponytail. One look in the mirror confirmed that there was no hiding the marks from Angus’ bite, so might as well own it. “I’m sure I could get a babysitter to come with.” There, that barely had any bitterness to it.

“Don’t think of it that way,” she shook her head so that the blonde waves swayed back and forth. “Think of it more like sexy bodyguards.” I laughed in spite of myself. “Speaking of which.” There was a glint in her sea-blue eyes that suddenly made me very suspicious. “You’ll want to swear off humans for awhile until you get used to your new strength. Don’t want to break your toys.”

I stared at her in confusion until comprehension crashed over me, immediately followed by a furious blush. “That is certainly not an issue. Happily single since the divorce became final last year.”

“Ah,” said Mickayla knowingly, and I belatedly remembered with no small amount of chagrin that she was a therapist. “That’s why you’re so determined to not get involved with a pack. Too much commitment.”

“Ugh, it’s too early for psychoanalysis,” I groaned, rubbing at my face.

“Come on, cranky pants, let’s get you some breakfast. New wolves are kinda like kids. If they’re cranky, do they need food or sleep? Antsy? Then they need to go run off some energy.” She linked her arm and in mine as we set off for the kitchen.

“Gee, thanks for that glowing comparison,” I said snidely.

“And in your case, maybe caffeine.”

“Give me tea and nobody gets hurt,” I pronounced solemnly.

“Threatening bodily harm before nine am, are you sure she’s submissive?” asked a man who had come out of a room behind us, also evidently on the hunt for breakfast.

“Watch this.” Mickayla fixed me with a glare and before I even knew it my neck bent against my will till my throat was bared to her. And she hadn’t even drawn on any power. I glared at her from the corner of my eye and my face grew flaming hot.

“I wanna try,” he said. I met his dark brown eyes with no small amount of anger that he thought he could control me so easily. “How? I’m more dominant than you,” he sputtered at Mickayla in confusion. She laughed and wrapped an arm around each of our shoulders.

“She doesn’t know or respect you, Brian. Neither her or her wolf are gonna roll over for some stranger unless he seriously pulls rank. Do you think Alan would for just any old wolf?” she asked the somewhat forlorn wolf.

“Who’s Alan?” At the stairs, Mickayla released us and led the way down with Brian in back so that I was sandwiched between them. It seemed automatic, like their instincts to protect subtly guided their movements.

“Our submissive and resident quack,” Brian answered. I automatically started to bristle at labeling any healer with such an epithet. That thought was pushed out when it occurred to me that if they had both a submissive and a female, then they probably had no need of another.

“I’d like to see you call him that the next time he has to patch you up,” she said dryly.

The kitchen was sized and equipped to feed a small army. Come to think of it, was there any difference between that and a pack? People moved in vaguely organized chaos, piling plates with bacon, sausage, eggs, hashbrowns, and various baked goods before moving to the dining room on the far side. Mickayla reached around someone, who was busy wrestling the Danish that he wanted from the rest of the basket, grabbed two plates and handed one to me. Being small meant I could easily dart around and through people to get in and out quickly, but I had no idea what the protocol was for seating arrangements so I stuck close to Mickayla and Matt, who’d joined us.

I had never seen a dining table so big, at least a dozen people were already sitting and there was room for more. It was obviously custom made. The kitchen also had a table that was pushed up against the main one so that everyone could be seated. I gave Mickayla raised eyebrows in question.

“You get our fearless leader’s right hand side. Normally that’s Tom’s, Angus’ second, but since he’s not here you get it as our honoured guest,” she said with only a hint of teasing. I gave her a grateful look before taking the seat in question. I stifled my surprise when she and Matt sat to my left. Evidently they were high in the hierarchy to sit next to the second, which I thought was a silly term when Beta would have made much more sense.

“Shane and Matt will be ready to hit the road by 10:30,” Angus said casually after I’d made some headway into my meal, trying my best to ignore him. Why he thought I’d be safer with two strange werewolves than on my own, I would never understand. But Matt couldn’t be all bad if Mickayla had married him.

“So soon?” I asked just as casually as I liberally doused my hashbrowns with salt and pepper. “I thought I might stick around and get to know ya’ll better. If I have to give up my job, there’s not much of a reason to go back to Oregon right away. Unless that would be an issue?” Put two or more intelligent beings in a room together and politics could spontaneously erupt in a vacuum. Visiting a pack in another state before even meeting the one back home could potentially cause more than an eruption.

The room went eerily silent as the others waited to see what their Alpha would say. Most of them seemed to be mildly surprised and curious. I was pretty sure they had all noticed the mark on my neck, but no one had said anything nor given it a second glance. Despite the weird fluttery feeling of fear in my chest, I managed to actually look him in the face. Not the eye, of course, but his strong chin, which was one of his few physical aspects that said Alpha. Maybe that was because I always had trouble seeing men with weak chins as dominant.

“The Eugene Pack was hard-pressed to welcome you on such short notice, so no feathers will be ruffled. And despite what that crazy lone wolf might have put in your head, you are free to travel.” He gave a small smile that eased some of the tension that had somehow crept into my shoulders. I was no Helen of Troy, but the apparent rarity of submissive females and the territoriality of werewolves could create a powder keg waiting to go off. As much as I enjoyed yanking his chain, any fallout could affect both packs and they didn’t deserve that.

Mickayla made a “gimme” gesture at Brian, who sat a few seats down from her. He sighed and handed her a twenty-dollar bill. “Haven’t you learned not to bet against my mate yet?” Matt shook his head.

“Hey, didn’t she only go out with you because of a bet?” Brian retorted.

“Yeah, and even though I won, I still ended up losing,” Mickayla said with mock ruefulness. The banter and round of chuckles said that it was an old joke.

“Speaking of sore losers,” I said to her with a pointed look, “I have some wet, dirty socks in dire need of a wash if there’s a washing machine I could use?”

“I’ll show you where we keep our poor beleaguered beast chained up in the basement,” Shane offered as he stood up with his empty plate. I followed suit since I was done as well. Mickayla surreptitiously slipped me a tenner as I passed, which immediately went into my back pocket.

“Don’t scare the poor girl!” someone called out.

“Eh, she’s seen your face and it hasn’t run her off yet.” The teasing faded only slightly as I tagged along behind Shane.

“O captain, my captain,” Mickayla said without a trace of mockery. There never was with her. “If I may beg an audience?” I nodded with a small smile that conveyed exactly what I thought of her false formality.

“Since it’s our duty to woo the new girl, some of us were thinking of showing her around town,” Mickayla said once we were ensconced in my office. I had a suspicion that the others she was thinking of had no inkling of their implication in her plotting yet.

“Considering how she navigated rush hour traffic to evade Tom, I’d say she knows the area pretty well.” Neither the wolf nor I liked the idea of Ellie leaving our sight. I propped one hip on my desk without a care that it put my head slightly lower than if I were standing. Like most of my wolves, she was taller than me anyway and she had never been anything other than proper. Oh sure, she would skirt the bounds of propriety when the situation allowed for it, but never in a manner that would call my authority into question.

“It might be good for her to get out and see that we’re not as draconian as that John made us out to be.” Translation: prove to her she’s not going to lose all of her freedom or she’ll bolt again.

“If you are going to manipulate me, you’re going to have to do a better job than that.” While her point was valid, I was not about to let her think I would cave so easily.

“You can talk at her until you’re blue in the face, but she won’t understand the benefits of a pack until she sees it,” said Mickayla. “She’s only staying because the evil that you know is better and partly to tweak your tail.” I raised an eyebrow at that observation. “Ellie’s a modern woman suddenly thrown into submissive wolf mentality and those instincts scare the daylight out of her. So she’s going to make us all work for it before she settles down.”

“Dominance is dictated by a person’s nature before the Change,” I shook my head. “She’s submissive because she was as a human.”

“I think her ex-husband did a number on her, or maybe John, or both,” she said with a small frown, which I mirrored at the thought of what might have happened to her. “That’s why she’s so prickly with any male who tries to play power games with her, like verbally bitch-slapping the guys last night. If she can relax where there aren’t so many wolves, she might tell me more.”

“What do you have in mind?” I asked after regarding her thoughtfully for several beats. Part of that time was spent contemplating tearing apart Ellie’s ex.

“Hit Pike’s Place until she realizes she’s not ready for so much public. One or two of us should be able to help her keep control.” Mickayla’s smile was far too predatory to belong on the face of a therapist.

“One of the biggest tourist traps on a three-day weekend?” I asked in disbelief and gave her the look that idea deserved.

“She still thinks of herself as human and she’s likely to screw up pretty badly until she sees that. The sooner we get that out of the way, the sooner she might calm down,” she pointed out.

“Take Matt and Shane with you,” I sighed and waved at her to go. Not only were they good muscle, but they were both married, even if Shane’s wife was human.

“Technically this is pack business, especially since she would work well with Alan, both as a medic and a sub.” If she’d said anyone other than Alan, my hackles would’ve gone up. Their temperaments, although both being submissive, weren’t suited for mating. And I got the feeling that Ellie liked her men dominant, despite what she may say. I affected a much put-upon sigh, drew out my wallet, selected a credit card, and passed it to the blonde. She accepted it with both hands, kissed the simple ring on my middle finger, then flashed a smile and a wink before dashing off to find her charge.

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