Clary was indulging in very childish behaviour, and had a good stomp in her stride as she stormed away from the golden haired Shadowhunter in her wake, relishing in every pound of her booted feet on the cracked pavement. She was unreasonably angry when Jace caught up to her and grabbed her arm, stopping the solid, angry momentum she had worked up to and twirling her around to face him.
"Clary, what the hell is wrong with you?" he hissed, concern flitting across his face and settling into the muscles, setting his jaw and making it spasm.
"You! Them! Everything!" she snapped, tearing her arm free with much more force than was necessary, as Jace had readjusted his grip so it was merely holding, and not locked around her bicep. His gentleness only served to work her anger into a writhing, living thing. "I'm not a mundane! You don't have to throw me into a corner and keep me safe from all the baddies! I'm supposed to be a part of the team, not some damsel in distress that everyone keeps out of the fight!"
Jace growled and looked up at the sky as if searching for a way out of the argument that never ended. She could see his frustration with, what was to him, a stale topic. "You aren't trained yet, Clary. It's my job to keep you safe."
Clary stomped her booted heel into the pavement, feeling childish and petulant. "How am I supposed to learn anything when no one lets me try?"
Meeting her eyes with his golden ones, Jace reached up to brush her cheek with the back of his scarred, graceful fingers. For a moment, her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned into his fingers, her throat working as the sweetness of touch soothed her, her anger melting away even as she struggled to hold onto it. The smell of sunshine and clean soap seemed to settle around her like a familiar, warm blanket and she let out a soft breath. Jace's fingers drifted from her cheek to her jaw, traced a pattern that tingled down the column of her throat and glided across her exposed collarbones, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. Against her will, Clary shuddered pleasantly and her eyes drifted open. Golden eyes pinned hers, pupil blown and darkened with a sudden urgency, and Jace tugged her into his arms, pinning her against his body. The contours of her body, made prominent by Shadowhunter gear, moulded to his easily and she felt her breathing pick up when he tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her face close to his.
When his breath ghosted across her lips, warm and heavy, his lips close enough to touch, Clary was so close to letting the familiar argument die until Jace murmured, "I'll always protect you, Clary."
Freezing in his grip, her muscles instantly going taut as a bowstring, Clary narrowed her eyes at him. Jace seemed to realize he had spoken the wrong words because his lips were quick to form new ones, but Clary reached up and slapped a hand over his mouth before he could loose them. "I don't need your protection, Jace Lightwood," she spat.
With that, she spun out of his grip and with her hands fisted at her side she picked a direction at random and began walking away from him once more.
"Where are you going?" Jace called to her, his voice thick with frustration.
"Away from you! I can find my own way back!" She growled without turning around. Not caring whether he heard or not, Clary kept walking.
She heard him let loose a string of profanities, but for once, Jace seemed to get that it wouldn't be smart to pursue her, and then she was on her own. Clary was too busy replaying the events of the night to pay attention to where she was going, she just mindlessly took corners and crossed streets blindly, letting her feet go where they wanted.
They had gotten word of a den of Scorprios demons that had holed up in a dilapidated old brownhouse by the river, and she, Jace, Alec and Isabelle had suited up and gone down to clear out the demon den. Clary had been pinned, suspiciously without a word, between Alec, who was leading, and Jace and Isabelle who were rear guard. They had her so neatly encircled that she barely had room to breathe, and when they crept into the building, Alec's tall frame blocked out the scenery, so all she saw was his shoulder blades. They had cleared each room on the ground floor methodically, Clary always somehow pushed to the back as her fellow hunters made sure the room was clear, until they were left with the upper story. Testing out the stairs, Alec had put his foot through a rotten step, and the resulting noise gave them away.
When Jace heard the sound of pounding feet overhead, and the blood curdling low hiss that began to steadily increase in volume, he had unceremoniously shoved Clary behind him and backed up until she was literally pinned between his solid back and the dusty wall of the entry way. She had protested and struggled to escape, but Jace had ignored her and remained solid and unmovable. When the real sounds of battle began, grunts and calls back and forth between Isabelle and Alec, the sounds of sharp blades hitting deadly barbed tails, Jace finally moved to help his siblings, and Clary had peeled herself off the wall and felt a mixture of fierce glee that she was finally going to be able to fight, and a little trepidation, but every time she moved forward, someone intercepted, and when finally one of the Scorprios demons had snuck past, focusing in on her with rolling yellow eyes, lashing its venomous tail behind her, she had barely the time to take a fighting stance and adjust her grip on her seraph blade before Jace pulled the overprotective boyfriend act and, slashing his blade carelessly through the demon that blocked his way and bodily heaving it aside, he had leapt in between her and the approaching Scorprios and flicked his wrist, sending his blade through the eye of the thing.
Clary, frustrated beyond all reasoning, had shoved him aside and tried to move into the fray, and instead found herself being unceremoniously thrown over a shoulder and carted away from the battle. She caught a glimpse of Jace's face, of the determined look in his eye, before was dumped on the floor of a musty closet and the door was slammed in her face. By the time she had regained her wits enough to pound at the door and try to get out, he had moved a heavy piece of furniture in front of the door and barred her in.
Now, walking down the street with her fists pounding into the sides of her thighs rhythmically in frustration, Clary could feel her irritation at being thought helpless and fragile bubble up in her chest until she could barely breathe, and she let loose a sharp cry of pure rage. It had been months since Idris, months of training and sparring and readying herself for her birthright, and the three of them still treated her like she was made of glass.
'I'm a Shadowhunter too, damnit! And yeah, I may be a little behind in training and experience, but how am I supposed to prove myself if they throw me in a closet every time there's a hint of danger?'
Seething inside, her ears roaring with the sound of her blood boiling, Clary didn't notice the van that had been following her for a block now, engine purring quietly, lights turned off. She didn't see how the empty, barren street she had wandered onto, or the fact that the lights in this neighbourhood were mostly burnt out. The first hint of danger, that feeling of ice water pooling at the base of her spine, only came to her when she heard the sounds of car doors opening and closing, albeit quietly, and the sounds of footsteps on the sidewalk approaching her from behind.
When she finally came back to herself, eyes alighting on the empty street, ears picking up the sounds of feet that were trying hard to be silent, Clary felt all her nerves fire up with electric warnings of danger and by the time she moved to turn her head, all she saw was a glinting blur, and then there was an unbelievable burning in her temple and right eye. She crumpled bonelessly to the sidewalk, her vision going black as pain ricocheted through her skull.
"Why'd you hit her in the temple, you idiot?" A man's voice.
"Silly bitch turned just as I was going to brain her!" Someone growled blackly, and as she struggled to remain conscious she felt strong arms heft her up none too gently and a shoulder slammed into her sternum, the sensation of dangling half upside-down made the pain increase in Clary's head tenfold and when she was dropped onto something hard and unyielding, and the sounds of metal doors being slid shut came to her, she was barely alert enough to decipher them. Between one laboured breath and the next, Clary felt the tide of black wash over her and then she knew nothing at all.
Clarissa.
The voice cut through the dark, golden and piercing, like singing. Clary was adrift inside her own mind, unconscious, but for that musical voice that pulled her upward, called to her to wake up.
Clarissa, you must wake up now.
The command behind that voice was so powerful that Clary struggled through the darkness, fought for consciousness, but as soon as she felt herself beginning to stir to life, she felt the searing pain in her skull, the pressure so heavy, the thickness that muddled her thoughts. The right side of her head felt as if it was made of broken glass, and the urge to scream sent her fleeing internally back to the safety of the dark inside her mind.
Clarissa! Fight! You are in danger! You must wake up!
And then there was the softest of touches against the uninjured part of her face, like a feather brushing her cheek, and with that touch came an overwhelming sensation of reassurance, of comfort. Fighting the temptation to fall back into oblivion, Clary pushed forward and with a quiet whimper she felt herself wake fully. Her right eye would not open, and the vision in her left was blurred and unfocused. She raised a shaky hand up to her head and tentatively explored her face and temple. She could only bear to touch her injury for a moment before the pain became too intense and let her leaden arm drop back to her side, trying not to think on how her fingers were coated with thick, warm fluid.
Since she could not see, Clary strained to focus on the sounds she was hearing. After a moment it became apparent that she was in the back of a vehicle, and the faint bumps that jostled her occasionally confirmed her theory. She remembered voices, men's voices, before she had been knocked unconscious and Clary shuddered. The whole situation seemed too sloppy for the work of Downworlders or demons. If either wanted to attack you, they generally didn't knock you out and throw you in a van. The past months of her life she had been so concerned with dealing with demons and Downworlders, with the Nephilim, that she had completely forgotten about the danger that could befall any young girl walking the streets of Manhattan alone at night. She had forgotten about the evil that men could do.
Can you move?
Clary froze and whipped her head around, searching for the voice she had thought she had imagined, and immediately regretted the movement as it sent spikes of pain reverberating through her skull. But she caught a blurred figure through her good eye, and struggled to focus on it. Crouched just a few feet away from her feet, a man shaped shadow shifted. Blinking rapidly, Clary tried to shake the strange light that edged the figure in gold from her vision, thinking it was an effect of her obvious head trauma. But if anything, the golden aura only intensified and Clary's heart began to thump painfully in her chest.
Very slowly, and with trepidation, Clary nodded slowly and shifted her body, preparing to move.
Quietly, Clary.
Just then she heard the murmur of a voice, and she remembered the danger she was in. Moving so carefully and quietly it was as if she wasn't moving at all, Clary struggled to pull her suddenly unresponsive, heavy body into a seated position. It was incredibly difficult, and at times she felt a wave of dizziness, or faintness threaten, and she found herself biting her lip hard enough to draw blood to keep from making noises as her head threatened to split open. When finally she managed to sit up, resting on the cool metal of the van's interior wall for support, the figure of light glimmered brightly as if in acknowledgement of her feat and she felt that golden voice singing through her mind again.
Good girl! The next part will be harder. But I can get you to freedom if you listen to my instructions. Will you trust me, Clarissa Fray?
Clary considered this for a moment, then thought of the alternatives. Her mind showed her terrifying images of newspaper clippings, of sound bites on the local news, of the things that happened to sixteen year old girls far too often. Again she nodded, digging her fingers into the undersides of her thighs to keep herself from panicking.
I already unlocked the doors to this vehicle. You'll need to hold onto something, this is where it gets.. messy.
Furrowing her brow, Clary tried to interpret that as her fingers automatically searched for handholds. She managed to lock onto a metal bar of some sort and gripped it tightly. She had the feeling she didn't want to know what 'messy' meant. Then, with the sound of wings beating against a hard wind, the figure of shadow and light moved from her toward the front of the cab and she followed it with her good eye. It moved gracefully in a half crouch until it was behind the grilled doors that separated the front of the van from the back and slid long, thin, tapered fingers through the openings in the grill. She could make out the vague forms of two men sitting up front through the passing streetlights.
This is the part where you close your eyes and try not to listen.
Clary was quick to do what she was told. She squeezed her eyes closed, even though it brought on a new wave of agony in her right eye, and she buried her head against her left shoulder, trying to shut out as much sound as possible. Still, she heard it when the golden voice that had previously been just in her head began to sing out loud, when it became harsh and frightening. She heard it when the screams began.
When the van began to swerve violently, those terrible screams piercing her to the very core, she just gripped the bar beneath her fingers harder and made herself as small as possible, tucking her limbs against her abdomen and praying for anything to make the screaming stop. Clary felt it when the van bumped up over a curb, and the screaming only increased in volume. It took her a moment to realize that she had added her own voice to the horror in the van.
"Make it stop! Please, make it stop!" She was crying, over and over again.
Suddenly there were strong arms enfolding her, pressing her to the wall of the van, and without thought, Clary buried her face in the warmth of that embrace, rubbing her cheek against a soft material that covered a solidly muscled chest. Then she was jolted violently, only remaining in her makeshift seat because of her iron grip on the bar behind her back and the body that was pressed solidly up against her, as metal crunched and squealed all around them. The impact rocked her until she felt like her bones were shattering inside her body, and she gritted her teeth so hard she felt her jaw creak.
And then just as suddenly it was over. The van shuddered to a halt, having obviously crashed into something solid, and the screams of men and metal had died abruptly, leaving only a heavy silence. Clary realized she had been holding her breath and she sucked in a deep, shuddering breath through her nose, smelling a mixture of gas, smoke and the coppery tang of what could only be a copious amount of blood. Her whole body erupted in a fine tremor. The arms around her released her gently and the warmth moved away and Clary found herself panicking.
"Don't leave me!" she whimpered, and then immediately winced. She was a Shadowhunter, she wasn't supposed to whimper, or play victim. She wasn't supposed to depend on others to save her, she was supposed to be the one doing the saving.
I am not leaving Clarissa. I am going to open the back doors, we must leave before the human authorities get here, the voice reassured her soothingly, and a hand reached out in the dark to lay on her shoulder for a brief moment.
Without a sound, she felt the warm presence move away from her and then there was a creaking as the metal doors at the rear of the van were opened. A lithe figure gracefully leapt from the van and then turned and reached a hand back, gesturing silently for her.
'Come with me if you want to live,' she thought hysterically, but unlocked her death grip on her support bar and slid across the floor of the vehicle on her butt, less gracefully than her companion, and swung her legs out until she was sitting on the edge of the van. The movement had her head swimming and Clary stared at her feet dangling above the pavement to try and keep herself from passing out.
Can you stand?
Stubborn pride had her nodding her head, and even as her body trembled at the mere act of sitting upright, she let herself slide forward until her feet made contact with pavement and managed to remain more or less vertical. She turned to smile triumphantly at her mysterious ally, but when she caught sight of him in the light from the street, she felt her face go blank with shock.
She realized three things simultaneously.
He was beautiful.
He was definitely not human, although she suspected she had known that already.
And he was glowing.
What strength Clary had poured out of her like rainwater and her knees gave out. Before she could topple to the pavement, the beautiful creature standing still before her awed scrutiny moved impossibly fast and caught her under the arms. She could have sworn he laughed as he swept her up into his arms and cradled her in his arms. Quickly falling back to the state he had found her in, chiefly, unconscious, Clary stared in childlike fascination at the golden aura that outlined his form and she raised a hand to let her fingers trail through the glow that radiated from his chest.
"Pretty..." she murmured thickly.
This time, he definitely laughed.
Shall I take you home, little Shadowhunter? He asked softly, but Clary had already lapsed into oblivion.
He sighed gently, a noise that would have sounded to Clary like the wind dancing through the leaves had she been awake to hear it, and began to carry them away from the mangled vehicle and its unfortunate occupants.
