Magnus POV
I'm glad I came out to my club tonight. With this mix of species anything could happen.
Being a successful owner of Pandemonium, where the Downworld and the human world mix, requires social skills just as much as it requires good business sense.
Two of my associates drag a mundane in front of me whom they've been hunting down for weeks. Toothless and shaking. Drug addict. I hate drug addicts, they're boring. Or dead. He traded his soul to my father for all cocaine he could ever want. I look him up and down and sigh. "Just get rid of him", I say.
"But he made a deal with your father", Clive says.
"If my father saw him, he wouldn't be interested. Just let him go, preferably in the direction of a rehab center", I insist. Dammit, some of them have degraded themselves so much, their souls just don't have the same value anymore.
I lay back and let the music wash over me as Clive puts another shot of Macallen "M" scotch on the little table beside me. It's good to be King.
"Boss...couple uninvited", I hear at my ear. Clive, one of my bouncers, points subtly at two Circle members working their way through the crowd.
"Shit", I mutter under my breath. Just what I need. I get up and make my way over to them. They're both tall men, half bald, who refuse to remove their sunglasses. Shadowhunters have always had ego problems, but when they go bad, they become insufferable.
"Circle members aren't welcome in my place", I inform them.
"We're just here to talk to you", one of them says, "We don't hang out with Downworld scum or human trash. Valentine is looking for someone—young girl, 18ish, redhead, you once knew her, removed her memories, seen her?" He shoves a photo in my face. Though she's a pretty young woman now, I can see the little girl behind the face. I know her all right, but haven't seen her in years. Shit, Valentine has figured it out. He knows who she is.
"Never saw her in my life", I answer, "Now if you don't mind..." I indicate the exit.
"Valentine don't like uncooperative scum. You see her, you contact us immediately", he says, shoving his card in my hand. "Got it?"
"You know I don't really like your attitude", I say, "You come into my place uninvited and start ordering me around."
"You're garbage, Bane", the other man hisses in my face, "Not just Downworlder scum, but a warlock, a warlock with a daddy who's one of the Big Three, an upper level demon so close to the throne, you're practically the fucking anti-Christ. Why don't you go back to Edom where you belong? Can't have you mixing with these stupid damn humans, children of God, who think there's something exciting to be had here in this hellhole. They oughta be on their knees beggin' for forgiveness, not here with a son of Hell itself. You're not good enough to spit shine my shoes, Bane, now do what you're told, you slanty-eyed demon fuck."
"Good heavens, listen to that language", I say, keeping my breathing steady, "Haven't you heard? Stop Asian hate."
"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about", the man says.
"Tsk, tsk, not very woke", I answer, dropping my glamour, my eyes turning bright gold. I lift up my right hand, and they both lift off the ground, kicking in the air.
"Let us go", one of tries to yell, but they can't get it out.
I squeeze my left hand, and I feel their T1 spinal vertebrae snap. Paralyzed by the waist down. C4. From the neck down. C1. And dead. Their bodies drop like rag dolls onto the floor.
"I know what to do boss", Clive grunts, still close to my ear. He does. Make them disappear.
"Fast", I comment, sniffing the air. Someone is coming.
A group of Shadowhunters come through the front door as Clive drags the bodies out the back. That was close. Too close. Shadowhunters, all I need. Shadowhunters are like cops, they're the last people you want you in your club, they do nothing but cause trouble, but barring the door to them would just make the trouble grow exponentially. It's better to welcome them, be friendly and cooperative, offer them free drinks, and hope they get the hell out before they scare off the clientele.
Clary POV
It's my first real mission and I have to admit I'm nervous. There's every kind in this club. Vampires, mundanes, a warlock or two, and us...four Shadowhunters trying to stop a gang of renegade vampires who are turning humans in NYC into their personal smorgasbord.
In every room, there's always one or two people who make an impression, magnetic sorts you can't look away from. One of them, the blond Shadowhunter alpha with two different color eyes, can't seem to keep those eyes, or his hands, off me. "In the corner", he prompts, "I can see them", he whispers in my ear, his big hands around my waist, steering me in the right direction. Not exactly #MeToo appropriate, but I like his hands exactly where they are, co-worker or not. His strength and dominance is making the beta in me melt. "Jace", I whisper, pushing back against him. I can almost see his eyes rolling back in his head. He clears his throat.
"You know I wouldn't risk for you a second", he croons against my ear, pointing to a motorcycle gang of vampires. "But you look just like his type. You look like everybody's type. Get him so horny he can't think with the big head anymore and this is will be over in minutes." I nod my head, walking over to the vampire, admiring his bike.
"Is this your bike?", I ask, raising my voice a few octaves. "I was going to ask whose bike it is. It's so cool."
"Hey baby", he answers, looking me over, "It's mine, want a ride?"
"Oh I do", I whisper.
"I don't know what you are, kitten, but you smell like fucking heaven", the vampire says, boosting me onto his motorcycle. In the corner, Isabelle, who looks like an Egyptian princess, is doing the same kind of work. Long thick black hair, black eyes, a killer tan, and an hourglass figure that won't quit, half the vampire males in the room are simply staring at her while she dances.
Their mouths are hanging open. "Who's that?", my vampire says, momentarily distracted by curvy Isabelle's undulating.
"I hate it when a guy can't keep his eyes on me", I say, and let my fist fly straight into his face. I hear his nose crack in three places beneath my fist. I duck and Jace swirls his serif blade at the vampire, cleanly removing his head. Isabelle unleashes her whip, snaps off one head, and ties it around the ankles of two more vampires, dragging them to the floor as her brother steps out of the shadows and impales them on his serif blade. For a guy who felt so bad he had to take a week off, he sure is his old self.
"Aggressive", Jace whispers hotly into my ear.
"Always", I say, kissing him, and biting his lower lip.
In minutes, the offending vampires are all dead. "You seem back to your old self, big bro", Isabelle comments, but Alec can't meet her eyes. Isabelle and Alec share thick black hair, but that's where it ends. She's short, at 6'3, he towers over everyone else in the room. Where she's dark, he's so fair, he looks like the David statue carved out of pure alabaster, and he has the muscles and rock hard abs to go along with the image. Where her eyes are pitch black, his are a brilliant blue so true, they look like sapphires. While technically Alec is four years older than Isabelle, everyone calls them the Lightwood Twins, known to be as deadly as they are beautiful. But with Alec, it's sick. He has a face so perfect, it could make angels cry, and maybe it does.
We all leave the bodies and walk back to the front of the club to find the owner, who we know is a warlock named Magnus Bane, whose businesses are on both sides of the legal line. The Institute tolerates him because he's been of use many times.
I finally see him, lounging on a purple velvet chaise. Quite handsome, he's wearing bright silk pajama pants and a matching silk waist-length kimono, left open. His chest and arms are muscular, and his 6-pack is more like a 12-pack. His brown skin glistens with a sheen of sweat beneath the bright lights. As we approach, I can sense him laying a glamour in place.
He's wearing a collection of gold chains around his neck, one of them with a stone the size of a grape in a violet color. He has gold rings, some with stones, some without, on every finger.
"Is that a bluish amethyst I wonder", whispering to Jace as we get closer to the warlock. A smirk curves over Jace's face.
"That's a diamond, baby, rumor has it, it once belonged to Marie Antoinette, but his father, Asmodeus gave it to him on his 30th birthday."
I gasp loudly, not sure which fact is more startling, that he's wearing about 50 million dollars around his neck or that his father is none other than the Prince of Hell, the upper demon, Asmodeus.
"Magnus is his favorite son. The illegal elements of the mundane call him "Hell's mob boss", but I hear he's trying to turn over a new leaf", Jace snorts. "Good luck with that", he rolls his eyes.
As we approach the warlock, his pungent alpha scent smacks my nostrils. He's sitting with his legs far apart, the one element absolutely necessary in any alpha male, an enormous erhm...third leg, clearly evident resting between his thighs. He's bigger than Jace even.
Jace reaches into his pocket and places a check from the Institute on the table in front of the warlock. "For the mess."
"Not necessary", the warlock says, handing it back to Jace, "I'm always happy to help the Institute in any way I can."
Jace smiles and pockets the check. We expected no different of course. I notice the warlock can't keep his eyes off me.
"Who were they?", he asks.
"A vampire gang who had made murdering mundanes by the hundreds their daily sport", Jace offers.
Bane crinkles his nose. "So uncivilized. Glad you got them. I like the humans in my club to feel safe. Humans are never bitten here of course—unless they ask nicely." He smirks.
Suddenly behind him, a tall man appears out of the shadows, bringing a brilliant serif blade down toward the back of the warlocks' neck in a killing stroke. I have no time to process it, much less react, but in half a second, an arrow flies across the room, lands deep in the man's chest, and he falls dead to the floor.
"You saved my life, thank you", I hear Magnus Bane say to whomever shot the arrow, looking around the room. Alec strides across the room quickly and retrieves his arrow from the man's chest, dropping it into the quiver strapped to his back.
"WHO are YOU?", Magnus says, his eyes big as saucers, his mouth hanging open.
We all wait for Alec to speak, but he doesn't. "Alec Lightwood", Isabelle offers, frowning at her brother.
"Come here a moment, let me thank you", the warlock says, entranced.
"I...it's okay. I just wanted to help...I...um...I...", Alec stutters, unable to form a coherent word.
"Bro, what's wrong with you?", Isabelle whispers fiercely, and even Jace looks worried. He's never acted like this before. Not before he got sick last week.
Alec keeps sniffing the air like a bloodhound. "What do you smell, dude?", Jace asks with a laugh. As a beta I noticed an odor coming off both men and Isabelle too, a pungent musk. Jace smells fantastic to me, but the warlock...like a musk that's a bit too dirty and unwashed. I wrinkle up my nose.
"Chocolate, coffee, tobacco", Alec answers, looking around the room for the source. "Old books. An exotic place I've never been, like flowers I've never smelled, and spices I've never tasted." He seems to lick the air. "Indonesia."
"What the hell, dude", Jace comments, frowning at him. Isabelle and I are just looking back and forth between all the guys, dumbfounded.
"I said come here", the warlock says, dripping alpha energy.
"You don't have to", Isabelle says to her brother, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him. We can see his muscles pulled tight and burning. He's fighting every action he's taking with every ounce of his strength, but even Alec's strength can't stop him from moving, can't stop what feels like the inevitable.
Isabelle steps between them. "Leave my brother alone", she growls protectively. The warlock's eyes meet hers aggressively.
"It's okay, Izzy", Alec answers, torn between orders from two alphas, but locked onto only one. What the hell IS Alec, exactly?
He walks quickly to the warlock. We see his legs shaking with the effort of trying to stand straight and tall, but we hear his knees crack as they hit the floor, leaving him kneeling at the warlock's feet. His head bends and he offers his neck to the sitting man.
Magnus POV
If anyone asked me what was going on right now, I would unable to tell them. I just know I can smell something—sweet beyond words, vanilla, maybe honey. I don't know what it is, but the smell is like a too-sweet dessert, totally American and purely New York, like the bakery on 5th. It's something I want to devour until I'm full and then devour it again.
That Shadowhunter, I don't know anything except that he's, he's...special. Then I call him again and he comes to me, so beautifully obedient. He kneels before me, offering me total submission. I put a finger under his chin and tilt his face up only to look into enormous cerulean blue eyes. The most beautiful eyes I've ever seen.
He's shaking. I tickle his perfect, velvety, pale cheek with my pointer finger. "Don't be scared of me, please", I whisper. He's like a little animal in the forest, ready to bolt from terror, and I'd do anything to put him at ease. "So beautiful, so fucking beautiful", I say, and a shadow of a smile turns up the corners of his mouth. "That's it", I whisper softly, "Please don't be scared." I ruffle his black hair. His lips are so plump and soft and pink, they're crying out to be kissed.
"We have to get the hell out of here", Jace Herondale announces loudly, breaking the moment.
The blond Shadowhunter puts his hands under Alec's arms on one side, and his sister does the same on the other, and they lift him to his feet, and drag him out the front door before he or I can say anything else. In a blink, they're all gone. HIM with them.
"Is he a...", I ask Clive.
"Yeah, I think so", the tame vampire answers, "Don't know what else he'd be. But they're so rare. I don't think I've ever met a male one before, never heard of anyone else meeting one either."
Then it hits me that the scent and the omega are gone. And I want him back more than I want my next breath. "A Shadowhunter at that", I say, perplexed, "They're all so dominant and hard and..."
"Guess ya never know", Clive says dumbly. Now that the show's over, my guests are back to partying and I can hear the loud music again. What an intriguing evening it's been.
"Get me a meeting at the Institute tomorrow", I tell Clive. "Call them now."
"A meeting?! At the Institute?! About what?", he asks.
"About the vampire gang, about mundane safety in New York, about an alliance between Edom and Shadowhunters", I shout at him, "Who knows, who cares, use your imagination, come up with something. Get me in the front door. Then wrangle some help and clean up the mess in the back", I order. I'm going back to my penthouse. I need a drink. Or a dozen.