Okay, so if you haven't read All the Moons Under the Sun, and want to read this story, or want a recap, here goes. This story starts at the end of Chapter 1 of ATMUTS. Clary has been bitten by a werewolf and has decided to run away. Jace is devastated, and has a bit of an emotional bd.

There you go. So once you're done with this story (or this chapter, lol) you can read ATMUTS, and then She Lives In You. There are no major spoilers for this story in ATMUTS, except one of the characters will not make a physical appearance and you are told that he died.

Enjoy

Disclaimer: this is the one and only time I am saying this. Vikki no owny Mortal Instruments.

What would you do if you had just left everyone you have ever loved behind in the city so many people run to in order to disappear? What if you were infected with the werewolf virus and likely to turn into a snarling monster the minute the full moon comes up, what would you do then?

Clary's mind was reeling with these questions as she sat on a decapitated bench in a train station, with a map of the whole of the USA sprawled across her lap. She dropped her finger randomly on a place, and looked where her finger had landed.

San Francisco.

Of course, she couldn't get a train, so she left the station, and headed for the airport. She was in luck- there was a flight to San Francisco in a couple of hours, and there were still seats available. She made up her mind that she was going to run as far away as possible, and the other side of the country seemed like a good idea. (My American Geography isn't very good, so if I'm wrong, feel free to correct me)

She was completely desensitised as the plane pulled away from the only home she had ever known- she was pleased that she had an aisle seat of the Boeing 747, because she wouldn't be subjected to having to look out the window. A young woman, about her age, was sitting next to her. She smiled and held her hand out.

"I'm Emma. No last name." There was a faint black line on her hand, the only evidence left of her Shadowhunter heritage.

"Clary. You're not from New York, are you?"

"California. I've bounced around a bit, but I'm planning to settle in San Fran. You?"

"Recently bitten and running away from everything I have ever known."

"Sounds familiar. That's why I'm heading this way. There's this pack, the Terra's. I heard that they'll take me on. You could come with me! A new life, a new name, a new identity for a new you!"

Clary had to admit that it sounded tempting. A pack that would take her under their wing and the start of a new friendship was certainly appealing. Emma seemed so full of life, and wherever she was heading, she had to make friends. The promise of a new identity removed her fear that her friends would track her down, and filled her with hope for the first time since she left the institute.

A month had passed and Jace's head still hadn't broken the surface of his own depression. He still spent ridiculously long hours in the training room, just pounding the bag, like killing it could bring Clary back.

His knuckles bleed and his head was pounding, every muscle in his body felt like it was about to shred itself in half and pull away from his bones. But he kept on fighting the bag, to stop himself going out and getting himself killed.

Sometimes when he trained, he found rare moments of complete of clarity, and this was true of now.

Jace realised that he had to get on with his life, but he couldn't do it in the Institute. He could find a job in the Mundane world and buy himself his own place to live. He could distance himself from the world he used to belong to, metaphorically of course.

He remembered what Clary had said about contract killers.

Maybe that was a good place to start.

A month of hitting bars in San Francisco and they still hadn't found the Terra's. Emma asked at every Downworld party scene, but there was no trace of them. Clary was beginning to doubt her friend, until the day came when the full moon rose.

If Emma hadn't been there to go through it with her, Clary doubted she would have ever been able to stay sane, it was so painful. Her bones snapped and crunched as they remoulded themselves, and her teeth rattled out onto the concrete of the alleyway they were hiding in. But once it was over, Clary realised why so many people didn't really see being a werewolf as a curse.

Their glamour's were perfect, thanks to her obsessive rune drawing.

It was a coping mechanism, drawing thousands of runes. It made her hand and arm ache, but it stopped her thinking about Jace when she was sitting in the travel inn, waiting to find herself somewhere to live with Emma.

But the strange thing was, they worked on Downworlders without killing them- Emma had walked in one day to find Clary clutching her stele, with runes inking her arms. She'd screamed quietly, but Clary had proceeded to reassure her that she'd had the runes on hours, and they hadn't killed her yet. Emma had eventually let her mark her, and was glad that she had.

Anyway, they crept through San Francisco that night, their senses alert. They were on the lookout for other werewolves, but in reality, the Terra's found them.

The first they knew of them was a bundle of fluff that was too small to be a fully grown wolf, but had the sharp teeth of a teething puppy. Following the youngster was a stout silver wolf with wise eyes and a threatening posture. Clary backed away, her ears back. Her first night as a wolf, and she was about to become Pedigree (Do they have Pedigree dog food in the States?).

However, the wolf relaxed his stance, and Clary realised that he was talking to her, using his body. Her mind soon worked out that he was acknowledging them as friends, not foes, and inviting them to run with his pack that night.

Emma yipped behind her, asking if he was a Terra. He let out a chortling laugh, and told them to hurry if they wanted to rumble with the lions.

The pack welcomed them with open arms that night, and when it was over, Clary woke up with no memory of what had happened in an abandoned warehouse, naked but covered in a blanket, with a twenty something year old woman standing over her with a glass of water and a plate of biscuits- proper ginger biscuits.

"Welcome to the Terra's sweetie. I'm Joanna, or Emerald." She smiled kindly at sat down next to her, giving her the glass.

"John, my husband, says that if you want to stay, he's more than happy to look after you- give you a new name and a new life. And a pack name, obviously."

"A pack name?" Clary asked, her obvious confusion causing the older wolf to laugh.

"Mine is Emerald, and you're friend just got dubbed Claws after an incident involving one of our younger members."

"Oh. I guess that if she's staying, I'm staying."

"Atta girl. Now, let's find you something to wear, shall we?"

The pack had a supply of spare clothes, and as Clary pulled on a strappy T-shirt, Joanna noticed the scar on her shoulder.

"That's the Herondale scar, isn't it?"

"My father gave it to me when he experimented on me." Clary replied, a slight twinge of hate underlying her voice.

"I won't pry, but I've never seen a scar quite like that outside the Herondale's." Joanna had found a brush and was gently pulling it through her curls.

"It's okay. I'm leaving my family behind, so I might as well admit to my heritage. I was born Clarrisa Morgenstern, but I won't die with that name. My father was a monster who has scarred both my heart, and so many others."

"Then the name Scars seems fitting. After all, under every scar is a battle we have won, and lost."

That was the first of many hours of wisdom Neo (John) would impart to Clary.

It felt strange to Jace, learning to shoot a gun, but once he got the hang of it, he was a natural, of course. His first job was a simple petty crime really, cleaning up someone else's mess, but he did it so well that he soon (as in, within a month) made a name for himself.

The orders would be pushed under the door of his rundown apartment, and once he completed them, the money was left in the same place.

Amber found him by chance, sitting in a coffee shop, always alert; always looking for any sign of those he called family.

He sort of beautiful, if you went for people who could kill you with their little finger, but Amber wasn't drawn to his beauty. She was drawn to how lost he was, and how utterly alone he appeared.

She watched as he got up and followed a dark haired man with cold, demon eyes out of the shop and into the alley behind. She watched him sneak up behind the man and drive the needle in, the way the man would have if he had administered it himself.

That was how the ghost covered his tracks-his every kill was a suicide, without witnesses.

Jace spun round to see Amber standing there, with her green blue eyes and red gold hair. He came at her with the intent to kill, but she was gone from his grasp before he could grab her. She grinned at him from her new position, and he threw himself at her with inhuman skill, and the two of them began to grapple.

Amber, the Taekwondo practitioner, blocked and kicked, finding the holes in his guard with powerful stop and side piercing kicks, cutting over his boxer's guard with high turning kick, dollyo chagi.

Eventually Jace backed away with his hands up- he wasn't about to let a girl beat him up, even if it would bruise his ego to give up. Amber grinned and dropped her guard, before turning tail and running, knowing all too well that this was what she had been waiting for since she left California.

I know it's terrible, and that I was told to finish She Lives in You before starting this one, but I kinda had to. It was rattling in the back of my brain. So I will churn out an update for each asap. And my other stories, which I have neglected slightly.

Okay, maybe a lot.

Review if you have pointers, want to be picky with my mistakes, or want to make a request for this story- I am accepting song requests, btw.

Bow Wow

Vikki ;)~