Hello Everyone!

Here is chapter 2! Sigh... I miss Valentine Morgenstern so much in the Mortal Instruments books... which is probably why I wrote this fic. LOL

Be prepared to meet Jonathan this chapter. Muahahaha!

Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN ANYTHING!

There was a forceful jolt, and the dirt road beneath the carriage became a pathway of cobblestone.

For the second time that morning, Eve was woken up. And she found that somehow, between the beginning of the trip and her waking, her head had drifted onto Valentine's side – though she supposed it hadn't bothered him too much, since he hadn't tried to nudge her away. She clenched her blue eyes shut – clinging to the last tendrils of sleep – but the unmelodious clip-clop of the horses' hooves and the bright sunlight blazing through the widows kept her from gliding back to her slumber, and she stirred restlessly against Valentine's arm.

He noticed her movement almost immediately.

Eve rubbed her sleepy eyes and gazed up at Valentine, only to see him already staring down at her. Pale sunlight streamed in from the open window beside him, catching the edges of his snow-white hair, and turning it into a nearly translucent halo. He looked very much like an angel in that moment, Eve thought – with his handsome marble-statue features and his pale coloring – if only it weren't for those fathomless black eyes.

Valentine turned toward the window suddenly and pulled the curtain father aside, dispelling her vision of angels.

"Eve," he said. "We've arrived."

Arrived?

It took a moment for his words to sink in, but when they did, Eve scrambled to sit up and looked expectantly out of the port-like window; instantly, Valentine's manor came into view.

The building was immense; much too great to be considered a mansion. It had vast, carefully maintained gardens sprawling to the front, and dark ivy climbed up the grey stone façade at the corners, reaching for the third story windows. Eve thought it was beautiful – the elegant, old-fashioned style of the architecture – probably because it reminded her of home.

Her old home, she reminded herself. Her home with Mother and Father.

This was her home now.

The cobblestone driveway curved gently, leading to the base of a sweeping stone staircase at the main entrance, and the turn pulled her against Valentine once more. Up close, she could see subtle touches of grey under his eyes, and Eve wondered if he had slept at all last night. Although it was strange to imagine Valentine sleeping, at all – the ordinary necessities of life, like eating and sleeping, seemed beneath him somehow.

There was an abrupt lurch, and the carriage stopped. Eve could hear the coachman jumping down from his place behind the cab, while the horses pawed restively at the ground, whinnying at the delay. A few moments later, the carriage door opened, revealing the fair-haired man from the night before. He nodded politely and stepped aside as his master emerged from the cab into the rich morning sunlight, and again Eve marveled at how graceful Valentine's movements were. He descended from the carriage as if he was treading fluid air. It barely seemed to be a great distance for him at all.

The coachman smiled slightly and offered his hand to her. "Would you like some help down, Miss Eve?" he asked politely.

Miss Eve? She smiled and let him lower her to the ground. Miss Eve had a pleasant sort of ring to it.

Eve glanced around eagerly for Valentine once she touched ground, to see if he approved her new title as well, but he had already scaled the steps to the main entrance, seemingly unaware of her presence at all. He turned moments later, and regarded her with a mild sort of impatience. "Come along, Eve," he commanded.

He did not seem as charming as the night before, Eve noticed. And she told herself it was because of his lack of sleep.

With a quick thank-you to the coachman, she followed Valentine to the main-entrance of the manor house – a massive set of doors – made of a thick, dark wood and gilded in iron. They were strangely intimidating: partially because of their grand size.

She felt like a field mouse beside them.

In a moment of curiosity, she wondered how heavy those massive doors were. Then Valentine gripped the sturdy handle and pulled them open, the Rune-scars on his hands glimmering like silver threads. He seemed to do it with ease, but then, everything that Valentine did was seemingly done with ease. So she supposed that the doors were very heavy indeed as she walked into the foyer after him.

It was very cool there in the manor, unlike the sun-kissed air outside. Polished marble floors gleamed under the lofty, vaulted ceilings. And although it was beautiful building, Eve did not think it looked anything like a home. Father had once told her that a home was where you placed the things you loved – like your family and your most beloved possessions – but there was nothing in this house that showed what Valentine loved; and a place so elegant and pale and cold and full of shadow could certainly never be called a home.

The thought of her father made Eve freeze stiff, as if the cold from the house had seeped into her bones.

Father.

Where was Father?

In an instant she recalled the night before; the look on Father's face, the way he had seemed to break when she left with Valentine. It had been a shock to see him so full of misery. And to think the one who was causing him pain…was her.

It had been her.

She had made him hurt.

Her throat burned as she glanced up at Valentine. Eve had thought she had made the right choice the night before: Valentine was the truth-teller. Father had been the one who lied to her. Then why did everything feel so wrong? Why hadn't Father tried to keep her? Why had he given her away?

She glanced away hastily as Valentine met her gaze. His dark eyes seemed to shred through her, as if he could see things within her that she never even knew existed. Like she was as transparent as glass.

"Eve," Valentine began –

But he didn't finish.

A figure rocketed down from the top of the staircase and Valentine's attention shot directly to him.

It was a boy, Eve saw.

He was handsome, perhaps, like a little prince – and about her age – with Valentine's pale hair and shadowy eyes. But his black clothes bleached away any of the color in his skin; making him look like a ghost as he rushed swiftly down the stairs.

Valentine didn't smile, but he seemed pleased to see him, nonetheless. "Jonathan," greeted Valentine.

Jonathan? wondered Eve quietly. This was Valentine's son?

"Father," the boy cried breathlessly. "You're back! You won't believe what I've learned since you left. One of the tutors showed me how to –" He screeched to a halt halfway down the marble steps – as soon as he caught a glimpse of Eve. His tumbled hair fell loosely over his forehead, unable to hide his wide gaping eyes.

He looked absolutely mortified.

"What in the world is that?" Jonathan snapped.

Eve flinched. There was an unchildlike arrogance in the way he spoke – like he was an aristocrat and she was nothing but a commoner – but he compelled her somehow. The way fire compelled ice.

Valentine, however, did not look swayed by his son's bad behavior. "She is a girl, Jonathan," he said patiently. "Surely you must know that –"

"Oh, I know it's a girl," Jonathan retorted. "What is it doing here?"

Eve scowled at him. Somehow, within less than a minute, she stopped imagining Jonathan Morgenstern as a prince, and had begun to think of him as more of a toad.

With a cold frown, Valentine studied the little boy on the staircase; a cruel sort of intrigue glittering in his eyes. Apparently he had not appreciated Jonathan's back-talk.

"Jonathan, meet Eve," Valentine explained icily. "She will be living with us from now on."

"What?" Jonathan screeched.

Valentine leisurely scaled the steps; not pausing – or even bothering to look – as he past his son. Jonathan gaped up at him silently, his eyes glued to his father, but Eve couldn't work up the courage to move. She stood frozen to the foyer floor.

Valentine reached the top of the stairs and called to her again. "Eve. Come."

She paused.

But Valentine kept moving, just expecting her to follow. Jonathan shot her a glare like daggers, and before she could blink, he had wheeled around and hurried after his father.

Eve saw that momentary flash of challenge in his eyes and found her courage to move: She rushed behind him, taking the stairs as quickly as she could without stumbling. But by the time she reached the top of the staircase, Jonathan and Valentine were already distant, retreating figures, their voices ringing clear throughout the echoing corridor.

"Father," Jonathan was whining. "Why would you want a girl? We don't need a girl, Father! You have me!"

Eve broke into a sprint, her shoes padding softly on the hard stone floor. There were paintings hanging on the walls at intervals, but they blurred into puddles of color as she ran past them. Within moments, she had caught up to Jonathan and Valentine.

"Are you questioning me, Jonathan?" Valentine replied. His voice sounded a little dangerous to Eve's ears, and the line of his shoulders was tight, but Jonathan didn't seem to notice or care.

"You left for weeks to go be with that other boy," he pleaded on. "– and now you bring this back home? She's going to be nothing but a burden, Father! I don't want her here!"

Other boy? Eve wondered. Valentine had never mentioned anything about another boy…

"It doesn't matter what you want," Eve replied out-loud. "Valentine is your father, isn't he? He is the one that makes the decisions – not you."

Both Morgensterns stopped dead and turned to face her; Valentine with a look of almost-liking, and Jonathan with a look of sour hatred. Eve shrunk away from the sudden wave of attention, the silence stifling her…

And all of a sudden, Jonathan seemed to explode.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do!" he seethed, storming toward her. "You're nothing but a girl! A useless, stupid girl!" His cheekbones were flushed a furious shade of red, his fists tightened into balls at his sides. It made his eyes seem very black indeed. "You don't belong here!" he roared on. "You're just a weakling! What good could you ever be to either of us?"

Eve had no idea what to do.

The only person who ever got this angry with her was her mother, and when that happened Eve usually stayed silent and let her rage. But this boy wasn't her Mother. He got under her skin, in a way that no other person had. He made her furious, with his snappy retorts and his arrogance.

She wanted to prove him wrong:

She wasn't useless. She wasn't stupid. She wasn't weak.

She did belong.

Eve stepped forward, and with unprecedented force, punched Jonathan square on the nose.

Jonathan hadn't expected it at all. The blow rocked him off balance, and in less than a moment he had fallen to the ground, parked ungracefully on the floor. He cradled his wounded nose with a sort of damaged pride, shock written all over his face.

And Eve recoiled, staring at her hand as if it was something foreign to her, then glanced back to Jonathan. He was sitting on the floor still, paralyzed by disbelief. For a moment they both gaped at each other, both astonished beyond speaking. Then Jonathan broke the silence.

"Father!" he cried. "Father, she hit me!"

He glanced toward his father, then, suddenly, the surprise in Jonathan's face faded. Eve assumed it was going to be replaced with an anger of some kind; but it wasn't anger. Instead, he looked at her with the most bizarre expression; a cruel sort of glee.

Somehow, this joy filled her with more terror than the raging had.

Ha, ha, his glittering eyes seemed to say. My Father's going to beat you senseless when he sees this.

Valentine, however, didn't look inclined to beat her in the least. He eyed his son with an indifferent expression, but Eve could see humor tugging at the corner of his pale lips. "She had every right to hit you, Jonathan," said Valentine simply.

Jonathan's grin widened and he sprung to his feet, his eyes sparkling like jet. Eve noticed that he didn't look very wounded at all, despite the trickle of blood that ran from his nose. "But of course you are going to punish her, Father," Jonathan insisted eagerly. "Well aren't you? She hit me, after all."

"You had best hope that I don't punish you for your little display, Jonathan," Valentine countered dangerously.

Jonathan's smile dropped, replaced by a look of total disbelief. "Whaaat?" he demanded.

"It seems to me that Eve has a better grasp of obedience than you do," his father explained with a shrug. "Perhaps it will do you some good to finally have a woman in the house again."

Without another word, Valentine began walking again; just as he had before, not looking back, not hesitating. Eve trotted behind him proudly, taking the opportunity to stick her tongue out at the stunned Jonathan.

Jonathan saw her gesture and seethed, like a boiling, red-hot kettle.

The way he was glaring at her made Eve think he might dart forward again and pummel her – but somehow he didn't. In fact, he didn't do much of anything. His expression closed suddenly, perhaps – like a book clapped shut – and he wiped his bleeding nose with the back of his fist. Other than that, though, Jonathan was quite still indeed. So still that he didn't even seem angry anymore.

But his eyes were alive, sparking like lightening.

Eve quickened her pace, sticking close to Valentine as they continued walking down the corridor. Jonathan was trailing behind them like a storm-cloud, and every nerve in her body warned against it. Father had given her tutors to teach her how to fight, how to defend herself, as all Nephilim had to at some point, and her first lesson had been a simple one: never let enemies approach you from behind. Behind is your blind spot.

And Jonathan was her enemy.

Sorry that was such a short chapter guys.

To be honest, I was going to add a halarious side-story in this chapter (about Eve finding out about marriage), but I decided not to. It seemed to detract from the meeting of Jonathan and Eve somehow. Maybe I will post it some time if you REVIEW!

P.S. Someone asked me in the comments if Eve and Jonathan were going to grow up slowly or if i am going to cut to a certain age in the next few chapters.

The answer is that they will, BUT, I want to do the occasional one-shot chapter when they are young again.

SO IF YOU HAVE ANY FUNNY/CUTE IDEAS FOR ANY OF THE CHARACTERS I WILL TRY TO PUT THEM IN IF POSSIBLE!

P.S.S...Next chapter might make you cry... Just giving you a heads-up...

Love, Fishie