Chapter Ten
Why was this happening?
Why?
Why was it that whenever one thing moved forward in his life, something tried to drag him back into the dark depths of his past?
Staring down at the trembling, terrified mundane in front of him, Alec couldn't decipher how he felt.
This pitiful, sniveling man had just told him that it had been him that had told Rico about David.
That he had made a mistake and in turn, Rico had ordered the hit on their home and had killed his baby and his husband.
It was a mistake.
An incident of wrong place and wrong time.
And then-
Then, as if that weren't enough, this selfish little fucker had the nerve to beg- beg- him for mercy.
A slightly hysterical laugh escaped his lips his eyes burning as his heart raced because-
How was he supposed to react to this?
"I hate you." He breathed, his voice little more than a whisper but clearly heard in the room.
"You dare to tell me that you made a mistake? That my husband, my child was killed because of a mistake. My three-year-old son was killed because of your mistake. Then you have the audacity to ask me for mercy?."
A slow, twisted smile crossed his lips and he chuckled, the sound haunting and sending chills down the spines of everyone present. Liza swallowed thickly, while Michael felt his heart clench, but to their surprise, their son-in-law nodded.
"Okay, I will show you mercy." His shadow shifted and all of their eyes went wide as pitch-colored wings appeared on the man's back. With a careless movement, the shadowhunter reached up and removed a single black feather, then hummed.
"My mercy is that I won't kill you. Not today."
*/*
The former Rico soldier whimpered in fear, watching as the deceptively soft-looking feather was brought closer, then in a flash, it sliced across his chest pain lancing through him as it cut through his skin like a blade.
"Wh-what?"
The Banshee smiled. "When I was younger, I trained with a group of Very Dangerous people. One of the things they taught me is something that will help you today."
"I d-don't-"
"It's a form of torture that will give you exactly what you asked for; My mercy. After all, angels aren't merciful. It is only the mundane that see us this way."
Another cut, no larger than a paper cut.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
For what seemed like hours, the creature (because he couldn't be human) placed methodical cuts across his skin, the pain maddening as it grew in intensity and yet-
He didn't die.
Not a single cut was deep enough or placed somewhere that would kill him and he wanted to beg.
And worse, he could tell that the creature knew it.
"Well," He drawled, soft and silky, "It seems you've realized that you've made another mistake."
"Please," He sobbed. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry!"
Hazel eyes flashed at his words, dark, dangerous, and angry.
"And yet," He responded, "That won't save you."
An angelic smile curled across the man's lips and yet all he felt was terror.
What a terrible, terrible mistake.
*/*
"Magnus,"
Magnus frowned slightly as he answered his phone, taking in the almost shattered tone of Alexander's voice. The shadowhunter had been radio silent for almost two days now, to the point where Maryse Lightwood had checked in to see if he'd contacted him. When he'd said he hadn't, the woman had given him a concerned look but said nothing. To his carefully hidden surprise, however, shortly after her visit, Isabelle and Jace had contacted him about helping them with Clarissa's mission to find her mother, neither of the younger shadowhunters mentioning their missing eldest.
It made him feel warier than he perhaps should have.
Still, glancing at Ragnor as the other warlock lifted a curious eyebrow, he couldn't help the flutter of concern in his heart at the younger man's voice.
"Alexander," He greeted warmly. "Are you alright?"
There was a moment of hesitation on the other end of the line, then-
"No."
He swallowed, wondering just how much strength it had taken the younger to admit such a thing.
"Where are you?"
"The park."
"Do you need me to come to get you, or will you be alright getting here on your own?"
Another hesitation. "I can make it."
There was a shuffling sound then a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, no. Don't be! I wouldn't have offered if I didn't want to."
Ragnor tilted his head, watching the younger Warlock carefully and then humming softly, but he said nothing and Magnus tried to ignore him. Tried to ignore the curiosity and caution in those eyes.
Alexander didn't reply for a while, then-
"'M here."
He stood, hanging the phone up as he went then opened the door just in time for the tall shadowhunter to step into his arms and hug him.
Strong shoulders shook as the younger man buried his face in his throat and Magnus shushed him gently, pulling him inside. He paid no mind to Ragnor's wide eyes or wetness gathering where the raven's face was hidden. His only focus was calming the man he could feel was on the brink of losing himself completely.
What had happened in those two days Alexander had been gone?
And why was the scent of blood clinging so strongly to the nephilim's skin?
*/*
Fascinating.
Ragnor had been alive for a long time and yet never had he seen a shadowhunter put as much trust in a shadow worlder as the young Lightwood Heir was currently giving Magnus.
Having worked closely with the clave before, he knew, perhaps better than most Shadow Worlders that Shadowhunters didn't show much emotion. It wasn't that they were emotionless dolls like most thought, it was more that they couldn't afford to show so much emotion. Their emotions were too strong, too volatile, and any slip up in their control could lead to their execution, such was the Clave's fear of their own warriors. For Alexander Lightwood, this scrutiny was double given that his mother was one of the deadliest Nephilim the Clave had ever seen and a renowned torture expert under Valentine.
And there was no doubt that she'd passed that training to her son.
When he'd heard that Magnus had gotten involved with A shadowhunter, a Lightwood at that, he'd been terrified for his friend. Though older than he let on, and terrifyingly powerful, Magnus was in some ways, naive in his views of Shadowhunters.
He saw them as repressed child soldiers strictly under the Clave's control. He didn't see the way the New York Institute, despite its young leader and small population, was one of the strongest institutes in the world. The way it had slowly branched out under the Shadow World's noses fingers dipping into mundane businesses and those of more…discreet shadow races.
And it had all begun with the young man Magnus was infatuated with.
The Shadowhunter apparently trusted Magnus enough to loosen his control over his emotions, despite the presence of another in the room (and he had no doubt that the man knew he was there).
Taking a sip of his wine, he let a tiny smirk curl his lips.
This one bore careful watching.
Perhaps, perhaps, he could be trusted to fix what Camille had broken all those years ago.