Saving Light

Chapter 2: Bound in Blood

Four days after his confrontation with Jace, Alec finds himself crouched in the shadows of a shipping pallet stacked high with molding crates. The only sound is the muted lapping of waves against wood, rhythmic and deceptively soothing. Thin bars of watery moonlight slip through cracks in dirty windows and the pungent scent of mildew and rotting fish hangs heavy in the air. The warehouse is old and lies on the edge of an abandoned dock, the perfect meeting place for shady Circle members.

Alec can feel frustration bubbling up inside him with every minute that ticks by with no sign of either his parabatai or their targets. He checks his phone for the third time, grimaces when a fat gray rat scurries across his boot and shoves the device back in his pocket with a scowl.

He and Jace have barely spoken since their fight, save the necessary work-related conversations, and he can feel the strain on their bond like a physical wound. There's a heaviness in his heart that he doesn't know how to fix, and Jace seems content to continue chasing after Clary with a single-minded focus that borders on obsession. And now his brother is twenty minutes late for his own goddamn mission and there are still no signs of the circle members that were supposed to be here tonight.

The intel Jace brought him had been solid, his mission plan surprisingly well thought out, but now Alec's beginning to wonder if they've been intentionally misled.

Unease begins to tighten his shoulders the longer he's here.

He decides he'll give Jace another ten minutes before he cuts his losses and goes home.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind Alec jolts when his phone vibrates with two texts in quick succession. He hastily fumbles it from his pocket and curses silently at what he reads.

[Jace: 10:29 pm] Ran into some demons, eta 15 minutes

[Jace: 13:30 pm] This was a distraction. I think someone in NYI is on V's payroll.

Fucking perfect. Alec thinks bitterly. Now he has to worry about security issues in his Institute on top of everything else that's falling apart.

Alec readjusts his bow, scrubs a hand across his face, and stares up at the ceiling beseechingly. He wants at least one thing to go right this week. Just one.

He's just rising from his crouch to leave when he hears it, the unmistakable sounds of footsteps echoing through the warehouse. He counts at least 6 pairs of boots.

Maybe their intel wasn't faulty after all?

"Come out, come out wherever you are!" A woman's voice sing-songs, breaking through the quiet.

Alec freezes. They can't mean him.

"We know you're here Lightwood. Valentine has been anxious to meet you, wouldn't want to disappoint him, would you?"

And well, Alec doesn't know what to do with that information. Why would Valentine want him? What could a genocidal maniac possibly want with a single, unremarkable shadowhunter? Does he think he's going to be able to use him as leverage against the Clave? Alec nearly snorts at the absurdity of the thought. They'd sooner execute him themselves than negotiate with the Circle.

"We have all the exits blocked, kid." It's a man this time, his voice gravely and impatient.

Alec bristles. He may be young by mundane standards but he's a leader of his people and a proven warrior with hundreds of kills under his belt. He hasn't been called 'kid' since he was ten.

"You might as well come out of hiding. You're not getting out of here."

Alec pulls in a steadying breath as he silently draws his bow and nocks an arrow. He runs his eyes over the warehouse again. He'd mapped the only two viable exits on his way in and he knows another one isn't going to magically manifest for him no matter how hard he wills it. It hadn't been an issue when this plan had included backup and the element of surprise. If they really do have both exits blocked then he's trapped here. Jace is still at least ten minutes out. He's on his own.

Alec takes quick stock of his own resources, tries to calculate the most advantageous attack strategy. His glamor, silence, strength and accuracy runes are still active. He'll lose the glamor once he makes himself known but he can take out at least one enemy before he brings their attention to his location. Maybe two. He has a full quiver and at least three blades. He doesn't know anything about his opponents but if rumors are true then it's possible some of them are mundane, which may give him a slight advantage. The thought of killing a mundane is distasteful, Alec's job is to protect them from the Shadow World, but if they're foolish enough to follow a zealot like Valentine then they've earned whatever fate befalls them.

Alec steps silently from behind the crates, catches sight of the four men and two women that have congregated in the center of the room. Two of them have runes, the other four don't.

He breathes in, pulls back the string, and releases on the next exhale. The arrow flies true, his aim is impeccable. He hasn't been praised as one of the best archers of his generation for nothing.

The first shadowhunter clutches her throat with a sickening gurgle, the red fletching on the arrow matches the blood spurting from her carotid artery.

He's releasing another arrow before her body even hits the ground. It finds its mark in a man's throat, one of the mundanes this time.

Then they're on him.

The other shadowhunter is faster than he expected, and he barely has time to bring his bow up to deflect the blow. The impact reverberates down his arm and he's forced back a step as adamas screeches across adamas with a horrible shriek of metal.

"You're lucky he told us not to kill you!" The man snarls. Blue eyes are furious beneath thick black eyebrows and he presses his advantage hard. He must have a strength rune active.

The remaining three mundanes move to flank him and Alec is acutely aware of one of them leveling a gun at him. If he dodges the bullet, he'll be leaving himself open to attack from the shadowhunter's blade. He pivots, uses his bow to hook the sword's hilt, and bites down on a grunt of pain when the blade slices a deep gash across his forearm.

It's a calculated risk that pays off when he wrenches the blade from the man's hand. It clatters to the floor with a loud, satisfying clang. He falls into a crouch, narrowly missing the bullet—dart? —that the mundane fires at him. Unsheathing his own blade, he thrusts it upwards, burying it hilt deep into the chest of the other shadowhunter. It's a short-lived victory though when he feels the pinprick pain of another dart piercing his neck, followed by another. Clearly, they aren't taking any chances. He has enough wherewithal to drop his blade and lose another arrow before darkness rises up to claim him. Four out of six. Not bad. Is his last conscious thought.

-oxoXOXoxo-

When Alec swims back into consciousness some indeterminable amount of time later he finds himself dangling from thick chains in the middle of what appears to be a large storage room. His shoulders are aching in protest and his wrists burn from the heavy shackles, his skin chaffed an angry red. The sword wound in his arm still oozes blood, thin spiderwebs of black veins creeping out from the jagged edges. Are the shackles spelled, coated in poison?

Dim emergency lights buzz overhead, washing the room in a combination of sickly yellow and inky shadows. The air is humid and cold and Alec can detect the faint undercurrent of salt beneath the overwhelming stench of blood and stale body odor. There's the faint sound of creaking steel and he can feel the slight sway of his prison.

With a sinking feeling, he realizes that he must be on a ship. There's no way anyone will be able to track him here. The hum of the parabatai bond is nothing but static where Jace should be. This means no rescue is coming and his only way out of this is going to be by his own power.

Doing a quick mental inventory, Alec finds that he's been divested of all his weapons, his stele, his jacket, even his boots. They've left him in nothing but his jeans and goosebumps break out across his skin from the cool air. The floor is cold where his bare toes brush damp steel. Not surprising really, his captors would have to be incredibly stupid to let him keep his gear.

With a pained groan, Alec forces his head up, vision swimming as he tries to make out his surroundings. He still feels groggy from whatever Valentine's goons drugged him with and focusing his fuzzy vision makes a headache pulse behind his eyeballs.

The cargo hold is a wide space built from rust-pocked steel paneling, heavy cross beams and thick bolts. Cages line the walls, stacked two and three high, most of them filled with the bodies of downworlders in varying stages of abuse.

There are weres from a variety of species that have been forced into partial shifts, faces deformed and limbs bent at odd angles. The few vampires he sees all have sallow skin ad sunken cheeks, clear signs of starvation. The warlocks look worst of all. They are shackled with magic-dampening cuffs and all bear gaping, oozing wounds that Alec realizes must have once been their demon marks.

He can feel their eyes on him and the room tilts precariously as bile claws its way up his throat. He gags on it, dry heaving as guilt and disgust churn in his stomach. He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows thickly.

The institute has been receiving reports of missing downworlders for weeks, but a lack of cooperation between the factions, unreliable information, and zero Clave support has prevented them from making any headway in their search. The Clave has deemed it a downworlder problem, has vehemently denied any rumors of Valentine's miraculous resurrection.

Bunch of old fools, Alec thinks bitterly.

He isn't sure how long he's been hanging there when he hears the echo of boots on steel drawing near. There's a thoughtful hum followed by expectant silence.

When Alec finally cracks his eyes open once more, he's staring down at none other than Valentine Morgenstern. A wide grin stretches across the man's lips and his dark eyes gleam with a manic light. He's flanked by two other men. They stand at least two heads taller than he is, their noses and mouths partially extended, long fangs dripping frothy saliva. Their arms hang limply at their sides, wicked claws extending from twisted fingers. Half-shifted wolves, Alec realizes belatedly.

What is perhaps the most unsettling about the entire scene are the thick black veins that spiral up the wolves' throats and across their faces, the blank emptiness in their eyes as they stand docile by Valentine's side.

"You gave my people quite a run for their money, Mr. Lightwood. Killed two of my shadowhunters and two of my most promising new recruits." Valentine doesn't sound unhappy about this. In fact, he sounds almost giddy, which is far more worrying than his anger. He tilts his head to the side and regards Alec like he's an interesting specimen in a jar. "They were an acceptable sacrifice. You, I think, are going to be worth so much more once I unlock your full potential."

Alec shoves down the shiver of fear that elicits and frowns. "I don't know what you think you're going to get from kidnapping me, but you know the Clave is never going to negotiate with you."

Valentine throws his head back, loud laughter echoing eerily through the large room. Around them, nervous shuffling and whimpers respond to the sharp sound. "I'm not interested in negotiating with the Clave," he replies, tone amused.

Well. That makes this situation even more concerning. If Valentine isn't doing this for some form of leverage, then what the hell could he possibly want?

Valentine must sense his confusion because he waves one hand in a dismissive gesture. "Don't worry, once we get rid of that pesky glamor everything will start to make sense."

Alec wants to ask what glamor Valentine is talking about, but the man is very clearly insane. Instead, he settles for glaring.

"Oh come now, surely you're curious. Haven't you ever wondered why you were so much better than most of your peers? Faster, stronger, more agile? No?"

Alec remains obstinately silent. He's never considered himself better than his peers. Faster, maybe, and he's exceptionally good with his chosen weapon, but surely that's simply a by-product of his rigorous training and his parabatai bond to Jace, who is arguably one of the best warriors their people have ever seen. Besides, it's not unheard of for the old bloodlines to inherit a little something extra.

"You have no idea what I'm talking about, do you?" Valentine raises his eyebrows in surprise, his grin growing impossibly wider. "Oh, I can't wait to crack you open and figure out what makes you tick. There's so much potential locked up in that body of yours." He motions to his wolves. "Go fetch the warlock."

Alec is helpless to do anything as Valentine begins to circle him, fingers prodding sharply at his runes, and dragging across his skin in a way that makes revulsion skitter up his spine.

"What do you want?"

Valentine stops in front of him once more, reaches up to pat his cheek condescendingly.

Alec can't suppress the flinch.

"I told you. You have so much potential. I'm going to break you down and build you back up into the most powerful weapon in my arsenal. And once I have you, Jonathan will be sure to follow. Wither thou goest an all that," he mocks.

Alec's mouth hangs open in shock. "There is no way we would ever help you," he snarls.

Valentine laughs again. "Oh, I think you'll find that you will, Mr. Lightwood. Alexander, may I call you that? You see, Alexander, I have ways of instilling obedience in even the most stubborn of creatures." His tone is chiding, like he's speaking to a disobedient child.

Alec doesn't miss the way he says creatures instead of people. His scowl deepens. "What are you going to do? Tickle me?" Maybe he shouldn't snark the man threatening him with torture and possible brainwashing but Alec refuses to let this lunatic see how much he's affected by the threat of losing his own autonomy. He bites down on the fear trying to strangle him and meets Valentine's gaze.

Valentine grins. "Oh, I like you. You have your mother's fire." He gestures to the shackles binding Alec's wrists. "Did you know I had those specially made for you? They're solid iron. I wasn't entirely sure, but I had my suspicions. I do so love when I'm right."

Alec files away the comment about the restraints for later. He isn't sure why their composition matters, and he only has enough energy to tackle one startling revelation at a time right now. "How do you know my mother?" He knows he shouldn't engage, shouldn't feed into the conversation but the mention of Maryse has a horrible suspicion creeping up on him.

"Don't worry, everything will make sense soon. In fact, I think you'll thank me once I free you from the lies they've been feeding you your whole life."

Alec's incredulous snort is loud in the cavernous room. He can't imagine any world in which he would thank Valentine for anything.

The older shadowhunter looks like he wants to say more but is interrupted by the wolves returning.

Between them is a petite woman with long sunset-colored hair done up in messy braids. As she draws closer Alec can see the fine sheen of sweat on her dark skin and the way her hands tremble, red eyes wide with abject terror. There are no black veins marring her face, no dampening cuffs on her wrists but the thick metal collar circling her throat—a green light blinking at its center joint—speaks for itself.

"Talia, thank you for joining us," Valentine says cheerfully, as though he's given this poor woman any choice. "Please remove the glamor," he continues, gesturing towards Alec.

The warlock shudders and swallows visibly. She scurries forward, hunched in on herself and sidestepping to avoid brushing against Valentine.

"I'm sorry," she whispers as she lays her hands over Alec's heart. Her skin is cold and clammy where she touches him.

Pink magic begins to pulse under her fingertips and he can feel the buzz of it tingling over his skin, subtle at first, like static, before he's suddenly hit with a wave of blinding agony.

The warlock, Talia, stumbles backward and falls to her knees with a cry. She turns her fearful gaze on their captor. "I…I can't remove the glamor without removing the binding."

Valentine raises an eyebrow. "What binding?"

Talia shrinks into herself even more, hands clenched tight in her dirty dress. "His magic is bound. It…it's a dark spell, powerful, anchored in his blood. It…the shock of forcefully removing it could kill him."

Alec knows he's still fuzzy from being tranqed like a feral dog, but surely he didn't hear that right. He's a shadowhunter, he doesn't have magic.

"Well, you better make sure he doesn't die then." Valentine makes an impatient gesture. "Break it!"

Alec struggles ineffectually against his restraints, wide eyes fixed on the warlock as she scrambles up from the floor to place her hands on him once more. The chains clang loudly in his ears, like an alarm signaling his impending doom.

Talia is shaking, her entire body vibrating with her fear, tears falling down her cheeks as she regards him with large, scared eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she whispers again, her voice cracking around the apology.

Alec doesn't blame her but it's clear she feels guilty for what she's being forced to do.

"It's ok, it's not your fault." All he can offer her is his forgiveness.

"How touching. Break the spell, warlock!"

While his forgiveness may not mean much in this situation Talia gives him a small, sad smile all the same, gratitude shinning in her glassy eyes. She chokes on a sob, her tears falling harder as her magic curls over him once more.

Alec hears a resounding pop before ice floods his veins. His body jerks violently, spine arching painfully and muscles spasming under the onslaught. The magic is so cold it burns and he's certain this is how he dies. He tastes copper on the back of tongue, hears someone screaming, realizes abstractly that the horrible, blood-curdling noise is coming from him. The torment seems to last for hours and by the time it stops Alec is barely coherent. He's panting, drenched in sweat, and his muscles ache like he just went ten rounds with a hoard of demons. His throat is raw from screaming and tears blur his vision. He feels hollowed out and empty…wrong. Like his skin is pulled too tight over his bones and he doesn't fit inside his body anymore. His heart is pounding erratically against his ribcage and he can't pull enough air into his burning lungs.

Talia has fallen to the ground at his feet, panting heavily. Her dark skin looks ashen and she has her eyes squeezed tightly shut, as though unable to look at the suffering she has caused. He wants to reassure her again that the blame is not hers, but he barely has the energy to keep his eyes open, let alone speak.

Then the wolves haul the drained warlock away and Alec is left alone with Valentine Morgenstern once more.

Valentine's eyes rake over him with a sort of wide-eye wonder, an almost childlike glee burning in his gaze. "Fascinating," he murmurs.

As the darkness creeps in again, Alec knows this isn't going to end well.

TBC…

AN: Hello all, big thank you to everyone who read and commented on chapter 1, hopefully chapter 2 didn't disappoint! We're going to do our best to keep a consistent schedule for this but life is crazy so we appreciate your patience. We have big plans for this fic so buckle up for some angst!