All This Bad Blood Here, Won't You Let It Dry?

DISCLAIMER: I do not own The Mortal Instruments or any of its affiliates, unfortunately.

All these belong to Cassandra Clare.

"A demon!" Luke exclaimed. "Valentine-"

"I've got it!" The young man leaped ahead, flinging a seraph blade with such a force that it pierced the demon's chest, causing it to evaporate into smoke.

"A bit crazy tonight, aren't they?" He asked his Parabatai, who nodded.

"Yeah," Luke agreed. "I don't know why there are so many of them..."

"This is our first major fight, my brother," Valentine said to him. "Our first real-"

But there came an anguished cry from behind him. "AUGH!" Valentine whirled around, only to find that a strange, slick creature with wings had his Parabatai on the ground and had sunken its devilish fangs into his thigh. He swiftly flung another blade at it, and the thing rounded on him. It was too strong.

"Valentine, RUN!" Luke was shouting from the ground, clutching at his bleeding wound. "Run!"

But Valentine just shook his head. In a swift, sure motion, he dug out the Morgenstern sword from its scabbard and sunk it into the demon's scaly flesh. The wretched thing screeched horridly before vanishing back to its own realm.

Drenched in sweat and ichor, Valentine sheathed the sword and raced towards his Parabatai, who was bleeding rapidly and losing consciousness.

"Leave me," Luke croaked. "Save...yourself."

"No," Valentine spoke sharply. "No. I told you, we fight together or we don't fight at all. We need to get you to the Institute..."

"J-Jocelyn..." Luke murmured before closing his eyes, his head slumping over.

Valentine didn't even have time to question why his Parabatai was murmuring his wife's name. He knealt down, lifting his Parabatai up and straining his muscles, tossing him over his back, and raced into the doors of the Institute.

"JOCELYN!" Valentine called out into the building. "JOCELYN!"

She hurried down the stairs, taking them three at a time and tripping over her own feet.

"What is it?" She asked, panicking. Upon seeing Luke's limp body, her face paled in shock. "No..." she whispered, looking faint. "He's not..."

"No, he's not dead. Not yet," Valentine added quickly. "I'd feel it if he was...but he's fading."

"What was it?" Jocelyn was already approaching them swiftly.

"Demon bite. I'm not sure what kind-all I cared about was getting him out of there."

"Is it gone?" She inquired, and he nodded. She seemed to relax, but only slightly.

"Come on, Luke," Valentine urged him, "Breathe..."

That had been only years ago, but it seemed like an eternity had passed since the two had last seen each other. Of course, time could change anyone, and it had certainly changed Lucian Graymark.

But surely, Valentine would still remember his Parabatai. Surely, he'd understand...

Then why was Luke so hesitant?

Standing at the doorway of the manor, he figured that it was better to knock and get it over with. So he did just that.

When Valentine swung the door open, he didn't know what he expected to happen. It certainly hadn't been this.

"Who are you?"

His Parabatai's words were like razors to his heart.

"It's me," Luke whispered. "Luke. Your Parabatai."

"No," Valentine spoke, his voice cold. "My Parabatai was Lucian Graymark. My Parabatai was the greatest Shadowhunter I knew."

"What are you talking about?" Luke asked, his voice quavering. Did he know? And if so, how? "I am a Shadowhunter."

"If you insist..." and before Luke even had time to register what was happening, Valentine had shoved his Morgenstern ring lightly into his skin. The ring was pure silver.

Luke cried out in pain, jerking his arm back and yanking down the sleeve. He stared at the burn on his arm, then back at his Parabatai, pain, shock, and anger shining in his eyes.

"Go back to where you came from, filthy Downworlder," Valentine spat. "You're worthless."

"B-but, Valentine-I'm your Parabatai."

"As far as I'm concerned, my Parabatai died a long time ago. Now, quit pestering me. Go kill yourself, filthy mongrel, before I do it for you." With those final words, Valentine slammed the door shut.

He could vaguely hear Jocelyn's voice: "Who was that?" And Valentine's swift reassurances of, "No one important, just another foolish disgrace."

A foolish disgrace.

When had things gone downhill between them?

When had Valentine found out?

When had Parabatai meant utter betrayal just because of something neither of you could've controlled?

At that moment, Luke was reminded of something that Valentine had said to the members of the Circle quite frequently. To love is to destroy, and to be loved is to be the one destroyed.

In that very moment, it was about the only thing that made sense. But Luke was not lost. He was not confused. He was not about to kill himself just because someone had told him to. No, no one could control him. He was going to run out and be himself, be the greatest werewolf the world had ever known, and lead a pack.

He was not a filthy mongrel.

He was no longer a follower of Valentine.

He was a leader.

Author's Note: Hey, guys! Thanks for reading.

I'm just really into the generation of the Circle, and I figured...why not?

So, if you rate and review,

I'll write more and add more chapters-and I mean it this time.

Thanks again!

~~~Wielder of Pens