A thank you to Ky for Beta and helping me thrive in writing this, and Lallie_O for demanding this chapter. They are awesome!

CC owns characters.

Chapter 3. The Wolf

Eyes black, big paws and

Its poison and

Its blood

And big fire, big burn

Into the ashes

And no return

We took you out

From your mother's womb

Our temple, your tomb

Can be your pick

Not pawned

The poison is blood

~The Wolf by Fever Ray

He was a wolf, with eyes as blue as the sky, and hair as black as night. His heart was living in the reality of the divine, and his body was given to the darkness. William, walked a thin line between the right, and wrong. His life as a student had been sacrificed for a short high long before it could be prevented. The drug had become part of it.

"Do you want to feel good, boy?" She had purred against him, her ripe round breasts like a beacon in the night flashing beneath the thin fabric of her shirt, and drawing him into her arms. Indestructible, the music pounded through the club, and the bodies all swelled together in a passionate rage. This was the place where dreams were made, and the birthplace of true nightmares. He loved it here. He loved it because he felt that he belonged here—no matter how much the need for his quick fix pulled him under.

William lived two lives; one above the surface in the university where his pallet of brown made him appear to be a civil being and the other in the dirty alleys of the streets that swept so many beneath their concrete tides. Here, he wore black on black to play the part of an eerie stranger whose cold icy glare was as deadly as his devil's grin. He wore his hair combed back over one brow, and the ends curled at the base of his neck. He was the image of the perfect enemy, who behind his careless nature was in fact a natural born destroyer; his alter ego. He could slip into this role like pulling on a mask, and the power that came with it was exhilarating.

"Addiction is a sin, William." The woman purred again with the needle of their drug, and her lips pulled on his own. She could feel his hardened state, and with it came her own quickened pulse. This was what life was about, and when they devoured each other in the back allies of London's city streets she became his prey.

"So is this." He purred, a dangerous low growl that mirrored the smoke that spilled from his lips as it burned the back of his throat. As the woman's long nails scraped away at his shoulders, and freed his milky flesh from beneath the heavy black fabric he arched his back. Between her fingers the little glass vial waited patiently with the deep red contents almost as taunting to his skin as her naked body against him.

"Do you want it?" She asked between their passionate cries, and slowly started to descend upon closed his eyes with a nod, and threw his head back to beg her. The prick of the needle only hurt for a few seconds before the drug spilled into his bloodstream, and caused him to cry out. It took hold of him like the pleasure that came with this deadly woman, and he begged for release. She was a spider, and he was caught.

"So then tell me," The woman continued; her body moving over him like a lone cowgirl ready to ride, lost in the moment, "When the sun comes up, don't you have classes to attend?" She smirked, and her cherry painted lipstick had bled onto her teeth. It was strangely sobering to Will, and for the first time in the pale pink light of the dawning morning, he had gotten a good look at this woman. Her hair was a ratted mess, and her skin seemed reflective of the drugs she was addicted to; it pooled in certain places with an eerie yellow tint. He suddenly felt sick.

"I do." Will arched his back with the pleasure that was rocketing over his body, but when his head fell back against the stone street he suddenly found the changing reflection of the night sky in the early morning light far more interesting. It was beautiful, the way the pale blue blushed warmer like the boy from yesterday—Gin.

"His eye is on the prize." The alley cat whispered in his ear while sparks shot between them as their bodies found the rapture, and the new day dawning.

Jem felt himself under the heavy impression of every eye as if he were being watched beneath the thick glass of a fish bowl. His heart pounded like a rabbits against his chest as he carefully dodged every judgmental gaze, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

The classroom was full when he first got there, leaving him with a seat in the front, and the entire class was able to openly stare. He clutched his books to his chest, and scurried to take his seat. At home classrooms were never this large, and even lecture halls like this were intimate—inviting. Here, he was seated along with almost sixty other people, and how could he hide? He felt like crying,but when the door opened suddenly the air grew cold. His heart stilled in his chest, and his lips parted for a careful intake of breath.

"Bonjour, mesétudiants," The French sounded as the beautiful pale lips that spoke them, and the tall man that pulled from the dark hallway enchanted Jem. He had hair of raven black that spilled down his back, and outlined a well defined almost eerily perfect face. His eyes were such a dark color they appeared as dark as his hair, and the contrast of his porcelain white skin made Jem's heart race. The man was tall, elegantly so, with broad shoulders, and a slender waist. His attire held sophistication well beyond his years, but were still somehow timeless. Jem was reminded of a painting pressed from the Victorian era with such flawless detail even the silver buttons of his waistcoat were polished. Under the black was a white pressed shirt that had a high collar that was decorated with a crimson ascot tied around his throat. He was so beautiful he hardly seemed real, but what made Jem marvel most was how kind his smile was. The age lines around his eyes gave numbers of somewhere in his late thirties, but simply the way he carried himself spoke of a well defined educated mind that could have been a thousand years old. Beautiful, long, fingers curled over the ruby tip of his walking cane, and the limp that carried the man over the floor only added to Jem's intrigue.

The classroom didn't say much in return. Their eyes skimmed over him, half afraid of such a menacing looking man. But rumor had it if you didn't pass Jean-Claude's class your first year, you were not cut out for the rest of the program. Most students had to retake his course twice before passing, and you were only given a handful of chances before the University accepted that as your failure. Times were hard, and with so little student financing to go around, they were careful with their selections. Jem was thankful this wasn't something he had to worry over, but he was also content to never express such luxury.

Introductions were played like cards across the room, as one by one they played their hand; some with gambling eyes, and others with hardly a second glance. Jem held the flush, for his face got red, and his name being discovered somehow made him feel he had given part of his soul. Now, he would not only be the one with the freakish hair, but as well as the strange name. However, the tall man now standing on the small platform gave Jem a reassuring smile, and was quick to distract with his own name.

"My name Doctor Jean-Claudede Luc Saint-Laurence, but you may simply refer to me as Professor, and when you pass this class…Jean-Luc." He spoke with a coy smile hidden something behind dark eyes, and they made Jem shiver. It was clear he was French, and finely so—he even dressed the part. His voice was so thickly accented with the nations sound structure that Jem felt compelled to ask. He wanted to know of his France just as much as the class. It was comforting to know he was not the only foreigner on English soil, but Jean-Luc's words quickly brought him back down from his mindless daydream. "You are in Le corps humain…" Jean-Luc turned from the classroom to pen 'The Human Body' beautifully across the board, and Jem couldn't be more pleased knowing this man would lecture the subject. "If you would please take out your books and turn to the two hundredth page. We-" The students in the room started to shuffle about, but when the door opened their eyes shifted instantly to the figure moving through it like a ghost.

William walked with his hands in his pockets and the collar of his coat up over his ears in a poor attempt at hiding his face. He would slink into the classroom like a cat along a fence, and took the only empty seat—beside Jem. The first thing Jem noticed was how pale Will was, and how blue his lips appeared. Thick black lines from his lack of sleep outlined his eyes, and his hair was a mess atop his head. He smelled like those stale cigarettes mixed with cold iron, and something a little more exotic; something…Jem couldn't find the right word for.

Sex

"Young Master Herondale." Jean-Luc turned the pen for the board over on his hand as he placed an elegantly decorated wrist against his hip, "What a pleasure to grace us with your presence." Will shot him a dark look, annoyed.

"Forgive me, Professor. I must have lost track of time." His voice sounded so dry on his lips, strained in many ways. However, the sound of it pulled on Jem's heart still, and he offered the misbegotten youth a small smile that Will didn't return. "It will not happen again."

Closer now, Jem could make out stains on Will's shirt; deep crimson ones that almost looked black. There were marks all over his neck—deep ugly ones, and the whites in his eyes were bloodshot from the lack of sleep.

"It better not, William." Jem didn't realize how close Jean-Luc was standing, until he felt the air turn colder there in his shadow, but it was his voice that made Jem feel frozen. "This is your last chance at passing this class."

Jem looked around, and was surprised no one else seemed to care as much as he. The rest of their class was far too busy on their phones, or chatting quietly amongst themselves.

When the class continued on, the lecture started right away with questions all left unanswered by the rest, but Jem knew every one. He quietly and shyly would raise his hand to give the correct answer until finally Will would snort harshly, causing a flush to fill Jem's face, and he would lower his hand. He was very aware of the eyes on him them, and felt very much the fool. The room fell silent as Jean-Luc waited for his answer, and it would be Will's turn to offer the correct one. This only made Jem's face darken further.

"Thank you Master Herondale, perhaps the third time is as you say…the charm?" Jean-Luc went back to his lecture, and while Jem wanted to crawl under his desk he leaned over to Will.

"Is it not the correct procedure to give an answer when you know it?" He asked Will in a whisper; too annoyed to cower at the glare that followed his question. Will sat up in his seat and pressed an arm over the surface to counter Jem's little act of bravery.

"Not when you know every one of them." This close to Will made Jem's heart stop, and the sudden confliction in his William's beautiful blue eyes made it start again. He hadn't been privileged to them before—not this close, and even now he felt they were distant. His eyes reminded him of winter, and he swore that behind the pale blue irises there the lightest hint of falling snow. Over and over in his mind, Jem thought of things to say back; of retorts that sounded witty or smart. Yet, all he could concentrate on was the blood on Will's shirt, and was thankful for the distraction. "Its how you make enemies Gin. People don't like know-it-alls."

Jem sat back in his seat as his arms folded over his chest, and when Jean-Luc asked another question he answered it with pride.

Good? Bad?

P.s. Jean-Luc (sometimes Jean-Claude) is an original of mine I was super nervous to post, so be kind on him. He's old. Want more of his story? Find me on Twitter at Starryowleyes.