The door slammed shut behind Johnny Rook as he stalked out of Kit's room. His entire face had
turned purple while yelling at his son; yelling about his foolishness, about how pointless all the
hours he had spent teaching Kit to be aware of his surroundings had apparently been if a barely
adolescent shadowhunter could get the drop on him so easily.
"You've grown too comfortable Kit, just downright lazy! Being 'Johnny Rook's son' won't save
you forever. You need to be on constant guard, especially if the nephilim are around!" He spat
the word out like a curse word, like it soured his mouth worse than last night's mystery stew
dinner.
Kit had just let Johnny go until he had worn himself out. He couldn't come to his own defense
because he didn't know what to say. He didn't even know what was going on himself. How could
he tell notorious nephilim hater Johnny Rook that he had been mesmerized by his almost
assassin and therefore slow to react to the attack. He could barely even admit that much to
himself, frustrated at his own inability to decipher his torrent of emotions and the apparent
incompetence they had plagued him with.
He shook his head in frustration, as if he could physically dislodge the image of the startling
steel gray eyes that seemed to be burned into his mind.
What was it about those eyes that seemed impossible to forget? The color was interesting, sure,
but not exactly extraordinarily rare to find. He closed his own light blue eyes in concentration,
actually bringing the picture into focus on purpose this time, unlike the thousand involuntary
times just since it happened barely an hour ago. It came eerily easy, much too easily for
comfort.
No, it wasn't just the color, it was what seemed to lie within those eyes. There was something
deeper within them, behind the cool headed determination with which he had held the knife to
Kit's throat, someone the boy had never met before. But he supposed that's how all nephilim
acted, going in seraph blades blazing, attacking first stopping to ask questions later (if anyone
had lived anyways). Kit had to suppress the familiar impulse to roll his eyes, leaving them
closed to keep the picture clear.
That was right though, wasn't it? That they had not met until today? Gazing into those eyes had
left had left Kit with a strange but warm sense of comfortable familiarity, like he had been looking
into them all his life. They felt like home . More so than this place did…. The thought made Kit
groan inwardly, what was wrong with him?
Kit opened his eye and shook his head again. What a ridiculous thought that had been. So the
boy was beautiful, so what? He ignored the image that flooded into his mind with that word, of
dark, long lashes against clear pale skin.
How beautiful .
Kit set his jaw stubbornly. If a life in the shadow market had taught him anything, it's that all
beautiful things were dangerous. The fair folk got that name for a reason, and it sure hadn't
been for their glittering personalities or sparkling sense of humor. In fact, the most beautiful also
seemed to be the most deadly. The most human like in appearance fey of the courts were the
most gorgeous and alluring, though with just enough mysterious small differences from us to
make them inhuman, were much more perilous and unpredictable than their creature like
brethren. Why would shadowhunters, the most dangerous of all the species he had always been
taught, be any different? They were the closest in resemblance to mundanes but they couldn't
be more distinctly separate from them.
He paced around the room, fists clutched at his sides, unable to fully discern all the emotions he
had felt during the short time he was held hostage. There of course had been his initial shock at
being ambushed in the basement of his own house. After that had come a small twinge of fear
followed by rage at that fleeting moment of weakness and the person who had caused it. But
then that had all been eclipsed by the rush of feelings that flooded his mind as he had studied
the boy's face. Kit flushed at the memory. He couldn't remember having felt that way about
anyone before, not even the flirtatious girls at school.
Kit's head hurt from the earlier confrontation and all the confusion it had left him with. He finally
laid down, tossing and turning until he finally fell into a fitful sleep. A fitful sleep filled with
bewitching blade colored eyes.
How beautiful.