*Trumpets sound* *Angel Choirs Sing*
Here is a chapter I am sure to get some reviews on... (heheh)... Not that I don't normally get reviews but...
Akhem... Anyways... Here you go...
Disclaimer: I don't own Mortal Instruments.
Stupid. Eve thought hopelessly. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID.
She sat in the corner of the training room, with her face buried in her hands and her golden hair falling around her shoulders like a curtain.
The moment Eve had escaped the dining-room, she had sprinted to her bedroom, kicked her Jada-clothes off, and had hoped to change into something more comfortable. Unfortunately, Jada had been busy during Eve's time at dinner: She had replaced all of Eve's training clothes from her closet, as well as her normal clothes, and Eve had been forced to settle with wearing a pair of dark grey sweat-pants and a skintight black tank-top: a tank-top with skinny straps and a low neckline – a really, REALLY low neckline.
Eve had searched her wardrobe in vain for a sweater or a t-shirt – or anything that she could use to cover herself up, but of course, Jada had taken those too. So in an act of silent rebellion, Eve had sneaked into Jonathan's bedroom and taken one of his long-sleeved t-shirts, instead.
It was huge on her; so huge that she felt like a little child playing dress-up, but Eve didn't care. It was loose-fitting, and soft, and it smelt like Jonathan, which comforted her a bit…
But it couldn't make her forget what had happened at dinner.
Images of Pangborn flashed through Eve's mind, swarming like a hive of angry bees as she sat alone in the training-room. She kept seeing the expression of rage on his pale face, hearing his agonized howl, feeling his fingers on her leg… Eve shivered in disgust and fury, tucking her hair behind her ears.
Pangborn had had no right – no right at all, to believe that she was interested in him.
Eve scoffed indignantly: As if she would even have bothered to pay attention to one of Valentine's lackeys when she had been sitting across from Jonathan Morgenstern: Jonathan, who was young and beautiful and a talented Shadowhunter. Jonathan who she loved.
But who doesn't love you, a voice in her mind sang.
Eve groaned then, her fury fading.
It had seemed like an eternity since dinner, but she still couldn't stop thinking about it. She had made such a fool out of herself – And in front of Jonathan and Valentine too, to top it all off. Eve could only imagine what they both thought of her now. Jonathan probably thought she belonged in an insane asylum, and she was sure that Valentine most likely thought the same…And Jada, oh Lord: What would Jada think?
Her tutor was probably going to explode when she found out, Eve thought in dread. She could already hear Jada's lecturing – hours upon hours of lecturing – about improper table-manners and not being a 'lady'…
And Valentine would probably let her do it too, Eve realized, cringing.
Eve weakly dropped her hands away from her face and looked up.
She was sitting on a plain black stool, staring at her reflection in a mirror. The rest of the training-room was reflected in the glass as well; she could see every inch of the empty space. That vast floor-to-ceiling mirror covered one wall, and the other three walls were plain and white. In fact, the only thing that wasn't white, it seemed, was a large square of black training mats in the centre of the room. Once upon a time, there had been quite an array of equipment in this room – weights and targets and weapons of every size and shape – but she and Jonathan had outgrown much of the equipment since their childhood. They had learned the skill, they had mastered it, and they had moved on. Now, the only piece of furniture that was left in the room was a dark wooden armoire in the far corner – one which held the few swords that were used when she and Jonathan didn't bother to go outside and train.
Eve suddenly focused in front of her, studying herself in the mirror.
She looked like a mess – 'mess' being a total understatement. Her blonde curls were in an untidy disarray, her blue eyes were wide and childlike, and her lips looked chapped and bitten. She must have been gnawing on them without noticing, Eve thought distantly. It was a nervous habit of hers.
Either way, she didn't think she would ever look stylish and perfectly put-together the way Jada did. Maybe sophistication was something that you were simply born with, she wondered. Like having blonde hair and blue eyes. Maybe it was something you just did or didn't have.
If that was the case, then Eve guessed that she probably didn't have it: She never looked classy or refined.
"Think fast," a voice suddenly said.
Automatically, Eve spun around, her hands rapidly shooting out to catch a pale blur as it was hurled at her head. Her fingers closed over something soft and light, which was the opposite of what she had expected. She looked into her hands and saw what had been thrown at her – it was a buttered dinner-bun – warm, as if it had just been baked in the oven.
"I thought you might have been hungry."
The voice had come again, but this time she fully recognized it.
She looked up, without surprise, to see Jonathan lounging in the doorway. He had his bare arms crossed lazily over his chest, looking as flawless as always. A thoughtful frown curved his lips, and he was wearing his black formal Shadowhunter gear, which was unusual. Jonathan rarely ever brought the leathery gear out… It had been Valentine's once, Eve knew, and Valentine had passed it on to Jonathan as soon as he was old enough to wear it. Not that you could really tell that it had been a hand-me-down. It looked like the Angel himself had tailored the tough gear to perfectly fit Jonathan's body.
Eve glanced down at the warm bread in her hands, feeling oddly touched.
"How did you manage to get this?" she asked curiously. Valentine never let them eat outside of breakfast, lunch and dinner. If you missed the meal, it was your own fault. So where had Jonathan gotten a hold of food?
"Martha was in the kitchen," Jonathan told her, naming their middle-aged chef. He shrugged elegantly. "She really isn't allowed to give us any food, but…" He grinned. "She has a thing for me, I think."
That makes two of us, Eve thought dully.
She glanced away from Jonathan and bit hungrily into the bun. Whatever Jonathan had said about Martha's feelings towards him, the woman worked wonders with food. The bun tasted better than fabulous. After swallowing, Eve looked up at Jonathan again. He was studying her now, with a dark, somber kind of gaze. He didn't smile either, as she looked his direction. It was the same pointed look he had given her in the dining-hall. It made her slightly nervous.
"You changed," he said abruptly. "Out of your outfit."
Eve unlocked her eyes from his, blushing. "Jada got me those new clothes," she replied. "But I … I can't stand them."
Jonathan nodded. There was another long pause. "Is that why you're wearing my shirt?" he asked bluntly.
"Oh." Eve looked down at herself, finally remembering it was true. She had no idea why, but her mouth had gone insanely dry. "Y-Yes," she stammered. "Jada took my other clothes and…" Eve broke off, fumbling for words. "Does – Does it bother you?"
"No," he shrugged. "Just curious."
Eve dropped her gaze to her toes awkwardly.
Jonathan suddenly strode past her into the room, not making eye-contact. "Pangborn and Blackwell are gone," he told her briskly. "Father sent them away."
"Did they bring any news for Valentine?" Eve asked quietly, after a pause.
Jonathan walked to the armoire and rummaged through it impatiently. He must have been looking for a sword, Eve thought. "They blathered about the same old things," he responded distractedly. "Pangborn thinks he may have a lead about the location of the Mortal Cup."
Eve's eyes widened with wonder. She spun to face Jonathan with a beaming smile. "That's amazing news!" she exclaimed. "Valentine must be pleased…"
There was a soft sound, the scraping of metal against metal, as Jonathan drew a long, gleaming sword out of the armoire. It had a heavy, elegant hilt and he eyed it critically, not glancing her way. "Every time he comes here, Pangborn claims to know where the Cup is." Jonathan slid the sword into a black sheath at his hip, and started to hunt through the armoire again. "Father and I aren't really inclined to believe him anymore. We'll believe that he's located the Cup when we see it."
"Oh." Eve chewed meditatively on her bun. "Anything else?"
"Not really. Here." Jonathan tossed a sword her way and it skidded across the floor to her feet, shining dully. "You're going to need this."
Eve shoved the last of her bun in her mouth hastily, leaned down, and picked up the sword. Jonathan had chosen a good blade for her – it wasn't too light or too heavy – and the hilt seemed to mold faultlessly with the shape of her hand. She stood and walked over to the center of the room with the weapon gripped at her side, waiting at the edge of the black mats. Jonathan slid into place opposite her.
"Ready?"
Eve nodded without a word, and Jonathan instantly whipped his sword towards her.
His movements were blindingly fast; Eve barely had any time to parry the blow before it came, but somehow, her own sword had shot up to block the strike. She hardly felt in control of her body when they fought like this. Everything happened so quickly. It was reflexes and instinct alone that kept her sword clashing with his – kept her from harm.
In a moment, though, her instincts failed her.
Jonathan got under her guard and nicked her sword out of her hand. It sent the blade sliding across the room, and Eve took a single step backward – but it wasn't enough. Jonathan dropped his own sword to the ground and sprung at her like a wild animal. She felt a powerful impact throwing her backward. There was a moment when everything blurred. Air was choked out of her chest as she hit the ground, but Eve was almost grateful; it was a good change to be thrown on soft mats instead of hard forest floors.
She meant to struggle against Jonathan once they hit ground, but the blow had awakened her bruising soreness from the training session before dinner. There was a moment of pause where Eve's body was too exhausted to move, too exhausted to fight, too exhausted even, to do anything at all. The only sound in the room was her ragged breathing.
Then Jonathan chuckled.
It was a dark noise, a noise of gloating victory, but it wasn't the sound of it that bothered her. It was the fact that she could feel it, trembling where his chest pressed down on her, brushing her forehead with his exhalation of breath…
"You're going easy on me, Angel-girl…" Jonathan accused with a grin. "You're going to have to do better than this, or I might just kill you next time…"
Eve didn't doubt him.
Within the last ten years they had lived together, Jonathan had broken her wrists and ankles multiple times, fractured her skull, and snapped each of her ribs at least twice. And then of course there were the countless sprains, the pulls, the minor fractures… If it wasn't for iratze runes, she probably would have been dead by now.
But the years had made her strong: strong enough that she could now fight Jonathan Morgenstern on equal footing. She had broken as many bones of his as he had broken of hers.
She was about to say so when she caught the look in his face.
Jonathan's dark eyes were on fire, again, blazing as if set on flame by hell itself. He was lying neatly on top of her, propped up on his elbows, pinning her to the floor. All of a sudden, her nerves seemed to spark where his chest pressed hard against hers – which was totally bizarre, she thought. How many times had Jonathan pinned her to the ground – caged her against a wall during a fight? Why did it bother her now?
But Eve looked into those eyes dark and knew exactly why it was bothering her. No matter how they had fought, Jonathan had always looked at her as an obstacle he had to overcome; she was just another training method to him, like a new archery-target to practice on … But he wasn't looking at her that way now. He was looking and seeing her. Not some empty hurdle. He was seeing her…
Eve shivered, although it wasn't cold at all.
Why did he have to look at her like that?
Jonathan cocked his head to the side a bit, then. The light hit him perfectly from behind, making the edges of his silvery-white hair glow like a brilliant halo. She flinched a bit when Jonathan's grip on her wrists loosened gently. She hadn't even realized he was holding them.
But she was aware of him now – of every single place that his body touched hers – so much more aware of him than she had ever been before.
His eyes blazed darkly as he leaned his face down, closer to hers, and Eve felt like her heart may have skipped a beat in her chest. He's going to kiss me, she thought.
"I liked what you did," Jonathan said to her softly. His lips were barely an inch away from hers, she realized, blushing. And his voice was so low, so intimate… Eve trembled. "When you did what you did to Pangborn – I liked that."
Jonathan dipped his mouth down to kiss her and Eve suddenly focused, breaking out of her reverie with a snap of anger.
Before Jonathan could blink, Eve had flipped them both over, so that she was pinning Jonathan to the mat, instead of the other way around. She glared down at him in disgust and growled, deep in the back of her throat.
That caught Jonathan's attention.
He looked up at her, then, as if for the first time. Surprise momentarily chased the dream-like flame from his eyes.
I don't understand you, she wanted to scream at him. Jada has put me through hell these last few years. Hell! Just so that I can be a 'lady' – so – so that you would like me – and you never cared! Never! We – we've known each other for tenyears and you nevercared!… And then I stab somebody at dinner tonight and now you're interested in me? Now? What is wrong with you?
Eve moved to get off of his lap, snatching her hands away from Jonathan in rage, but he didn't let her.
In a flash, Jonathan sat up and grabbed her arms, yanking her body toward his chest with savage-like precision. Eve gasped – more in surprise than pain – as her body was totally pressed against his.
He was taller than her then, Eve thought automatically, even though she was still sitting on his lap. She knew this because the first thing she saw when she collected herself was Jonathan's lips, drifting right in front of her blue eyes like a sculptor's masterpiece. His warm breath fanned over her forehead, smelling sweetly like wine…
Eve trembled without wanting to. She could feel his heart hammering through the thick gear, like a tiny bird, and it was doing things to her that she had never felt before, chasing away her anger; she guessed that Jonathan could feel her shuddering just as well as she could feel his heartbeat. The thought filled her with a nameless horror.
She found that she couldn't even breathe. Time seemed to stretch out for an eternity.
Eve stayed frozen to him, trying to match the rhythm of her breathing with the rise and fall of Jonathan's chest. Her body molded perfectly to his, she thought distractedly. She was trying so hard to hold on to her last threads of anger at Jonathan, but it was impossible. It was as if their bodies were perfectly matched puzzle pieces; pieces that only fully belonged when they were paired with each other…
Jonathan's grip loosened on her arms, then.
As if he had read the emotion in her mind, his hands became unspeakably gentle against her arms, making her feel weak in a way that was foreign to her. She took a deep breath to calm herself, but all she could smell was Jonathan: the leathery scent of his gear – the spicy fragrance of his skin and hair…
Here's your chance, her mind was warning her. Get away from Jonathan. Leave.
But her body refused to listen to her mind.
She remained there, sitting on his lap, her body completely plastered to his. Eve knew that she was free to go or draw away – that it was a terrible idea not to – but she didn't move – she couldn't move. A dark, consuming sort of hunger overcame her as she felt Jonathan's fingertips slowly traveling up her arms, and it chained her to him like an iron band.
Eve closed her eyes languorously, gasping a little as his fingers met the bare skin of her collarbone. She realized with a distant sort of horror that her stiff body was melting under the heat of his touch like butter. She was gradually loosing resistance; his hands were intoxicating her like a poison. It felt as if her spirit and her physical self had somehow been torn apart from each other. Like her brain had become something other – a spectator that had no control over what her body did.
By the time Jonathan's fingers had slid across the skin of her shoulders and moved to cup her face, Eve had almost lost any will to resist him. Her body was putty in his hands.
Her mind shrieked in one last protest, but Eve couldn't stop herself; she raised her hands and touched him for what felt like the first time in her life.
An almost electric sensation rippled through her veins as their skin met. Her hands slid down Jonathan's strong forearms, trailing to his wrists, tangling her fingers in his fingers. He was warm, Eve realized. His body radiated heat in a way that was magnetic. She had never noticed him like this before, she thought – in a way that wasn't like a brother or a friend or a training partner.
Eve's blue eyes fluttered open.
Her gaze locked with Jonathan's for one single moment, a split second – but a split second was all that they needed.
She looked into his dark eyes – and saw herself reflected in those eyes – and she felt something powerful change between them: The Jonathan who had been her brother, the Jonathan who had squabbled with her throughout her childhood, the Jonathan that had played with her by the creek in the woods in the summertime – that Jonathan was gone, now. And the innocent little girl who had been his friend, his side-kick, his worst enemy, even, at times – she was gone too. Eve could only see Jonathan and herself as they were at that moment: as something different than that. Something stronger than that.
Jonathan tilted his face closer to hers, his bare fingers blazing against the tender skin of her neck. He was deliberately drawing out the time, she thought, although she had no idea why. There was nothing he could have done then to make her possibly want him more.
Eve let him coax her head to fall back. Her eyelids to droop closed… She felt his lips brush warmly against her forehead, sweeping down her temples, over her cheekbones – she trembled with anticipation as his nose touched hers.
After that there was a long pause, where Jonathan was still, and Eve was almost tempted to open her eyes again…
And then he kissed her lips.
A shudder shot down her spine like lightening.
Eve's lips parted expectantly, her hands dropping from his wrists to his chest. His hands slid around her waist, crushing her body hotly to his. If it had been any other circumstance, Eve would have cried out in pain with how tightly he was holding her, but she didn't feel pain, then. She only felt the bizarre desire for him to hold on tighter.
Her fingers ran up his chest and her slender arms circled around his neck, pulling him closer. Her lips explored his mouth as his hands trailed down the line of her back and for an instant she almost drew back in hesitation. Jonathanwas the one who usually liked to take the position of power. She wondered if she might have troubled him, somehow, with her bold behavior.
But he didn't seem bothered to see that she had taken control. If anything, it had seemed to please him. His lips curled into a smile as her mouth pressed down on his. Reality – even reality itself – seemed to stop for a moment. She could only feel Jonathan's body, taste Jonathan's lips, hear Jonathan's heartbeat, breathe Jonathan's breath. Everything else had fallen away from her.
It seemed like hours later when he finally drew those lips away from her, although it could not have been more than a minute.
Jonathan chuckled cruelly, then, his breathing ragged, and Eve's blue eyes unexpectedly flashed wide. Her body froze stiff with the dawning realization.
Oh God, she thought in abrupt horror. Oh God, what have I done?
She thrust herself away from Jonathan's lap and scrambled to her feet, dread washing over her like a tsunami. She shuddered and backed away from Jonathan as fast as she could. Her hands were shaking like autumn leaves at her sides, her blonde curls disheveled and falling around her like tangled seaweed. Numbness lingered on the edges of her lips, as if she had just tasted poison.
Maybe she had.
Jonathan was seated on the floor, his chest hitching as quickly as if he had run a marathon. What frightened her most was the look in his eyes: He was grinning. His black eyes danced brightly with satisfaction – like he had just stumbled upon a mine packed full of gold.
"Well," he said, breathlessly. "That was unexpected."
Eve tried to speak. She tried. But all that seemed to come out of her mouth was a sort of choking noise. She slowly studied his face, but after a moment she had to look away. His cheeks were flushed, his hair a tangled mess, and yet he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen: so beautiful that it was impossible for her to keep looking at him and keep her composure at the same time. Eve clenched her eyelids shut, to block the image of him from her mind. But it only sort of worked.
Her eyes opened against her will.
"Jonathan," whispered Eve dazedly, running her gaze along the sculpted curves of his lips. As much as she was convicted to not say anything, her lifelong habit of worrying about him won out. His lower lip was oozing a trace of red from a shallow cut. Blood. "Jonathan, you're bleeding," she mumbled.
He caught her inquisitive gaze and grinned wider, wiping at the side of his mouth with the edge of his dark sleeve. To her horror, Jonathan stood up, unfurling like a cat. His eyes were wild. "That's because you bit me, Eve," he told her. "When you kissed me."
Eve blinked at him, taken aback. "I did?" she stuttered in terror. "I mean – I – I – don't remember doing that."
His eyes gleamed darkly, like a pair of black diamonds as he strolled leisurely towards her. Hot passion was there, burning like a fire. "I do," he said in a soft low voice. "That's all that matters."
He was three steps away, two, one… Soon he was standing directly in front of her, staring her down like a predator stares down prey. She couldn't move; her feet were cemented to the ground, so she stared at her toes diligently – desperate to not look into Jonathan's face. Eve peeked up at him in the end and almost fainted with how overwhelmed she was.
"You've been holding out on me, Angel-girl," he said wickedly, sliding his hands effortlessly around her hips. She didn't stop him; it was like he had done it a million times. He was gazing down at her with hooded wonder, as if she really was an angel. His black irises had darkened impossibly – becoming the shade of a midnight sky – a darkness so infinite that you could almost tumble up and into it. Eve could have sworn that she saw stars flicking in the depths of those eyes…
He pulled her close to him and her body bonelessly surrendered, molding to his. Eve had never felt so weak in her entire life.
She stared up at Jonathan dumbly, choking on her words. It felt like wads of cotton had been shoved down her throat to restrict her speech. Though it probably didn't help, considering the way that Jonathan was looking at her.
"I don't know what you're talking about, Jonathan," Eve muttered at last.
Jonathan hadn't seemed to hear her. "I guess it only makes sense," he mused. "After all… Having angel blood doesn't necessarily make you an angel, does it? Not that I'm an expert, but …" He smiled at her knowingly, dangerously. "You have a spark in you, Eve." Jonathan dipped his face down to kiss her again. "It's almost similar to me. I like that…"
His lips tenderly brushed against the edge of her mouth, feeling softer than velvet, and Eve almost let him carry her away again. Then suddenly, she balled her hands into fists at his chest and shoved him away, splitting herself free of Jonathan's embrace.
Echoes of her footsteps sounded throughout the room as she backed away from him again, and Eve rubbed her aching temples, as if it would clear her mind somehow while she walked. There was a long period of silence, then, until Jonathan finally spoke.
"Eve." The sound of his voice was pain. She saw him step towards her and almost bolted for the door. "What –"
She stopped her pacing. "No," Eve cut in unsteadily. "No, just – just quit for a second, will you? Let me think."
Jonathan quit, which was surprising. He usually never listened to her; her strain must have shown in her expression. She ran her trembling fingers through her hair. Her fingers felt icy.
"You shouldn't have kissed me like that." Eve blurted unexpectedly. "You – you just shouldn't have done it."
It hadn't been what she intended to say, but it was there now, hovering in the space between them like heavy fog.
Jonathan shot her a flirty, amused look. "Oh? And why not?"
Eve chewed on her lip thoughtfully, crossing her arms across her chest. She noticed that Jonathan wasn't as far away from her as she would have liked. "Because I … I …I don't know, Jonathan… This changes things…"
"Like what?" Jonathan began again. His voice was smoother than silk and he took another stride towards her, closing the space between them. "Eve, I want you, and I know that you want me –"
"I don't know if I want you. Not like this…"
Jonathan pulled her close again. "You're a liar," he growled with a smile. "Was that what you were saying when you kissed me? That you didn't want me like that?"
Eve's throat tightened. She was pressed against his body again, but this time, she found the courage to look up into his face. Slowly, she raised her hands and slid her fingers up the sides of Jonathan's neck. He didn't try to stop her as she quietly covered his lips with her fingers.
Eve felt her eyes pleading, burning with the threat of tears. "Stop," she begged him tiredly. "Please, Jonathan. Just … stop talking."
His eyes darkened once more as he gazed down at her, and Eve feared that he might pull her harshly up to him in another kiss, but reality dragged her away first.
There was a tentative knock at the training-room door and her eye-contact with Jonathan shattered into pieces. He let her go, then, and dropping her hands firmly to her sides, Eve turned to the door. Her fingertips were blazing. "Come in," Eve called stiffly, thankful for the interruption.
A maid creaked open the door and peeked into the room timidly. "Ms Eve, Mr. Morgenstern wants to speak with you in his office."
Eve shot a glance at Jonathan. "Valentine? Alone?" she asked in reply.
"He only summoned for you," the maid answered. "I would assume so.'
Eve nodded quickly and snuck another furtive look at Jonathan. His mouth was set in a tight frown, which, she had to admit, made him look very much like his father: At any rate, he didn't seem pleased at the interruption. Eve hesitated for a fraction of a second; not wanting to displease Jonathan, not wanting to stay, but her body reacted without her mind's permission – like it had so many times in that last ten minutes.
Before she knew it, she had hurried to the door – past the surprised-looking maid – and had vanished into the dark corridor.
Eve wished that night would just be over as she marched hastily in the direction of Valentine's office.
And there you have it folks... The first kiss...
LOL... to be honest, I had planned a whole other part to this chapter, which was totally halarious, but I didn't want to ruin the moment between Jonathan and Eve... (What can I say? I like some drama...) Maybe I will post it as an alternate ending, or maybe I'll find some reason to put it in another time... Although I doubt that Jada will ever find another opportunity to call Valentine a 'little virgin'... just saying... ;)
Hope you enjoyed it! Next chapter, things are gonna pick up fast!
Love, Fishy.
