A/N: So, I took part in the 2016 MCGA Secret Santa on tumblr, and this is my gift to the awesome kioliaa! Here's wishing you a merry christmas, and I hope 2017 is a super awesome year for you!

On Tuesdays, they release the wolves.

Magnus hates Tuesdays.

Can't let them get behind me. Magnus takes a sharp step backwards, letting them think he's running. The two wolves jump forwards, one at his throat and the other at his legs. Magnus leans out of the way, allowing one to sail by his face, but a claw manages to sink into his arm with a ripping sound. Magnus cringes, but the other wolf is already on him, its mouth opening around his thigh, eyes wide and teeth yellowed and razor-like, and he barely has time to jump out of the way as its teeth chomp together. Before it can try again, Magnus thrusts his sword with all the strength he possesses. His blade sinks into the animal with a sickening squelch and the wolf collapses to the side.

The other wolf howls angrily. The animal paces, circling Magnus, ready for a second pass. A sharp whistling cuts through the air. Its head goes flying, sending bits of blood and flesh and bone splattering everywhere.

Breathing heavily, Magnus darts behind a pile of rocks. He lands hard, and rolls like a log until he feels the reassuring pressure of stone against his spine. Blood streams down his arm, warm and sticky, but Magnus ignores it in favour of peeking out behind his little shelter. He's lost sight of his friends; it's become impossible to make them out in the screaming, sweaty mass of einherjei charging into battle. Raw pain and the coppery stench of blood make him woozy.

Alex joins him behind the pile of rocks, breathing hard and clutching her garrotte to her chest. It's stained with blood and bits of flesh, and Magnus tries not to look at the bloody pieces clinging to the wire. He really doesn't want his breakfast to make a reappearance. Instead, he focuses on Alex's face. She looks as though she's having the time of her life. There's a smudge of dirt on the tip of her nose. Her eyes gleam brightly. Her hair sticks up in five directions. Her jeans, pink button-down shirt and neon green Converse are covered in dust. Beautiful.

Cheeks warming, Magnus turns away so that he doesn't end up saying that to her face. He ends up staring at his black and white pair of Jack Purcell sneakers. There's nothing remotely beautiful about them.

He clears his throat. "You okay?"

Alex fixes him with an incredulous stare, her gaze ping ponging from the bloody gash down his arm to his face, smudged with dirt and sweat. "Are you seriously asking me that when your arm's been sliced in half?"

"It'll heal," Magnus lies, fighting the urge to heal the broken skin and torn muscle fibres. Several battles under his belt, and he's learnt that expending all his energy over something as trivial as a scratch would only make him an easy target. Instead, he allows himself to mop up the blood dribbling down his arm with the sleeve of his jacket, hoping that that will suffice.

"Are you okay? Seriously."

Alex nods smugly. "Not a scratch on me. You on the other hand . . ." She sighs in mock-disappointment, sending green curls flying as she shakes her head. "Can't even last a minute without me watching your back, huh?"

The lightness of her voice can't mask the worry clouding her eyes, her voice, or the little crease in between her brows that always appears whenever she's unhappy. Magnus wraps his hand tightly around the leather-bound hilt of his sword, resisting the urge to smooth out her brow with his tips of his fingers.

Over the butterflies coming to life in his belly, Magnus huffs out a weak protest. "I lasted for ten, actually."

Alex is liberal with her smiles today. Bright-eyed, flushed and pretty, she gives Magnus one. "I take it back, then."

His heart stutters in his chest. How is it that a mere smile can transform Alex Fierro from being shockingly pretty to heartbreakingly beautiful?

"What is it?" She's frowning now, leaning in so close that Magnus can see the sprinkle of freckles across her cheeks. The heady smell of pine needles and balsam, pockets of goodness that he has come to associate with Alex, tickles his nose. "Did you get hit on the head, too?"

He can feel a blush starting, and when Alex's arm brushes against his, the heat spreads down his neck. Calm down. It's only Alex. Magnus swallows back all the ooey-gooey words that threaten to spill out of him. He manages to shake his head.

"Um –" Magnus breaks off, his heart racing frantically along in his chest. He hopes he doesn't look as goofy as he feels. "Uh . . . Alex –"

"What is it?" Alex tilts her head to the side, staring through him. Confusion and disbelief mar her otherwise beautiful face. "Magnus, you're acting even weirder than normal, and that's saying a lot."

"You're cute." He rushes his words out. The moment he says the words, he wants to take them back. "Like, I want to kiss you kind of cute."

There's a pause as his brain tries to catch up with what his mouth has just said. When he finally realises that he's just used the phrases "I want to kiss" and "Alex Fierro" in the same sentence, Magnus is almost overcome with the urge to bury his head in his hands, put his fingers in his ears and sing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" at the top of his lungs.

He blames this on the blood loss.

There's a definite plus side to the situation. At least, if he dies – either from getting beheaded with a clay cutter or from embarrassment at having blurted out his feelings on a battlefield, of all places – Magnus can at least take comfort in the fact that he's the first person to see Alex's cheeks pink and her mouth fall open. She's having trouble looking him in the eyes, and Magnus swears up and down that he hears a faint, "Oh my Gods."

A blushing Alex Fierro is not an image he'll easily forget. Magnus just wishes he had a camera.

"You," Alex says at last, "Really have the worst timing."

Magnus winces. His palms sweat and his face flames. So foreign to him is admitting his mountain-sized crush that he feels completely overcome with panic. "I know."

"Just up and saying that while we're in the middle of a battle?"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I've been waiting for ages for you stop staring at me, and to actually do something, and this is what I get?"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"You could have picked a better location, you know. Even the hallway would have been fine!"

"I know."

"What's next, you proposing marriage during Ragnarok?"

Not something he's anticipated hearing. At first, it's almost as if he's in a dream, feeling strangely light-headed and detached from the fighting and shouting going on around him; but the throbbing in his arm brings him back down to earth with a crash.

"You – Me – M-Marry . . . Wait." Magnus knows he sounds like he's finally lost it, but his brain can't seem to form complete sentences. "Wait. You want to get married to me?"

Alex splutters, "That's not the point!" If possible, her cheeks turn even redder.

"It so is!" Magnus crows, already feeling a triumphant grin stretch across his face. "I quote, 'What's next, you proposing during Ragnarok?'!"

"I was just talking about your timing – or lack thereof!" Alex fires back, her voice rising several frantic octaves. "It was just an example!"

"No, you said you wanted to get married to me!"

It elicits a frustrated growl from Alex. "Magnus Chase, you are the single most infuriating person I have ever met!"

And here it comes, Magnus thinks. Death by clay cutter. But instead of cold wire pressing against his flesh, Alex's warm – and decidedly not cold – lips crash onto his.

Her lips cling to his: soft, so soft . . .

"But you still like me." Magnus manages, once Alex pulls away.

"And for the life of me, I have no idea why," Alex mutters, but she's smiling. "It's a sign of my questionable taste, if you ask me."

Dusting off her shirt and jeans, Alex makes to leave. Oh, right. The battle. Magnus' head swirls. Alex still carries herself with grace, looking for all the world like a supermodel on the way to her next booking, and Magnus can't help but think that it isn't fair – especially since he looks like he's been going dumpster diving.

Before he can change his mind, Magnus quips, "What, don't I get a kiss for luck?"

He grins when a light blush dusts her cheeks. The tables have finally turned, after several months of being reduced to a blushing, flustered mess around Alex.

"Come back alive, Maggie. Then we'll see." She flashes him a half-smile over her shoulder. "And you owe me a date."