Chapter 12 of Clockwork Princefrom Will's POV.

"You keep saying my name." There was a hint of a smile in her voice, bemused and a little lust-drunk. It was a symphony to his ears.

"I love you name," he said around her lips, "I love the sound of it." I love you. And you must love me. You can't kiss me like that and not love me, can you? It doesn't make sense and he doesn't want to think about it, but he needs to know. After all, she's not dead, yet, is there a world where you can kiss someone like this and not care at all? He doesn't understand. Maybe she is the exception to the curse. But maybe she isn't. He's torn and confused, but is afraid to ask. The perfect way she fits into his arms, the way her body has molded itself around him, it must mean something. It can only be from Heaven. His gift for protecting the people he loves, perhaps? A sign that there is a God and said deity is merciful?

"I have to ask you something," he says through her kisses, "I have to know-"

"So there you two are."Her kisses are intoxicating and have overcome everything, his training, his runes, all of it. They've been interrupted yet again and his question is cut off abruptly, leaving Will to wonder if he will die not knowing the answer. "And quite a spectacular display of it you're making, if I do I say so."

It is Magnus. He knows without looking and pulls away from Tessa, slowly coming to his senses. Allowing her to separate herself from his arms is the hardest thing he's ever had to do.

"Let me guess," Magnus begins, all aloofness and annoyance. Will wants to punch him. "You had the lemonade."

That was not quite what Will had been expecting and his thoughts about punching Magnus derail and tumble over themselves as he tries to figure out what the hell the warlock is talking about.

"I-yes. Nate brought me some." Tessa replies, sounding just as confused as he is. Will stares daggers at Magnus, wishing he'd just go away and leave them alone again.

"It has a bit of a warlock powder mixed into it." His cat eyes are glittering as he watches realization slow dawn on Will. Warlock drugs, of course. He should have known, should have been more careful. He has spent enough time in ifrit dens to know better. They are inebriated, though it's a state of intoxication he's never experienced before. Magnus continues speaking, nonchalant and indifferent:

"The kind that lowers your inhibitions." The words set off warnings in Will's mind and a dull ache begins just behind his ribs. "And makes you do things you would not otherwise do."

His fears are confirmed and for a brief instant, his mind goes blank with pain. He gasps, "Oh." That would explain the fact that his filter broke, that his desire for her overrode his need to protect her from his curse, that she returned his kisses with such fervor.

She does not love him. Does not share the need to be near. Does not ache for him the way he aches for her. Of course, she is alive, for she does not care for him. She was only under the influence of drugs. It wouldn't have mattered if it were him or Jem or Henry, the effect would have been the same. She does not care for him. She does not love him. The words repeat themselves over and over again in his mind, lyrics to a gruesome song. "Oh."

He pulls further away from Tessa, ashamed that he took liberties without even knowing it, still aching from the fact that she only allowed him to do so because she was not herself. She does not love him. He grips the rail of the balustrade in an effort to keep from falling over under the sudden weight of his pain. He searches his heart for the cloak of numbness he wears when he's around her, his comfort against the knowledge that he has hardened her heart towards him, but it is nowhere to be found. The minutes spent holding her have torn his walls down and there is nothing to protect him from the dizzying pain of it all.

All this, he feels in an instant. Magnus and Tessa are oblivious to his breaking heart and Magnus is doing his damnedest to maintain an air of mirth.

"Gracious, that's a lot of bosom you're showing." Will thought he'd wanted to hit Magnus before, but now the desire to spring into action, to move, to do something is almost unresistable.

"Tout le monde sur le balcon, as they say in French." Will bristles at the implication behind Magnus' tone and hopes that she won't have understood the exact euphemism, although the warlock's gestures make it rather clear. "Especially apt, as we are now, in fact, on a balcony."

Will feels savage, and then idiotic, as he realizes that, even amidst his own personal heartbreak and hell-on-earth, it is his instinct to protect her. This realization, of course, does not keep his mouth shut.

"Let her alone." It is comes out half a growl and half a sob, though neither of the two notice. "She didn't know what she was drinking."

Did not know indeed. For if she did, she wouldn't have been able to react to him that way. He ensured her thorough heartbreak and heaven knew if he was good at one thing, it was breaking the hearts of those that loved him. The thought threatens to drown him. They are still talking, Tessa is snapping and defensive, something he loves to observe because she comes alive in completely unexpected ways when she is angry. It's adorable, really, if only because it is so unique for her to be anything but good and gracious. He cannot bring himself to look at her, however, for to see her flashing eyes or the way her mouth curves when she delivers a saucy retort would be to shove a knife into the gaping hole that is his gut.

"-but if one of you were recognized already, what's the chance it could happen again?" Magnus' voice, pragmatic and ever-so-slightly-saucy too. "It's time to make yourselves scarce."

"What do you care if we get out of here or not?" Will asks the night sky, rather than turn and face them yet. As if you weren't the one who delivered this wound, as if it weren't your fault.

"You owe me." The warlock's voice was steady now, and Will could picture the hard glint of his cat eyes in his mind's eye. "I mean to collect."

That was too much. He turns towards them now, all anger and anguish, avoiding letting his eyes focus on Tessa's, who still stood close enough for him to touch. Of course this warlock has senses of duty and morality, twisted and perverse though it may be.

"I should have know that was it." He's aiming to hurt now and it feels good. It is not an outlet for the pain, but it takes some of the edge off. This is who he is. This is William Owen Herondale. He didn't know what he was doing or how to act when he was kissing Tessa, but he does know how to be vicious. Of course, Magnus is oblivious to it all, and the fact that he hasn't hurt the warlock's feelings with his implication reminds him that not even an immortal being cares about him.

"You may choose you friends, but not your unlikely saviors." Will could have killed him for his cheeriness. "Shall we go then? Or would you rather stay here and take your chances? You can start up with the kissing where you left off when you get back to the Institute."

Magnus knows that Will knows he is goading him, testing to see how far Will can be pushed before he snaps. Will grinds his teeth, biting back all manner of nasty things. It is with great effort that he manages to say:

"Get us out of here."

The warlock is visibly delighted by Will's attempts to control himself. Twisted sense of duty indeed. In the snap of his fingers, they are beneath a rain of magic and when the sparks fade, in the garden, far from the house.

"There, that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

Not difficult at all. Damn meddling warlocks. Not difficult to find every demon but the right one. Not difficult to spike the lemonade. Not difficult to make people act in ways they never would otherwise. Not difficult to ruin the most perfect moment one's existence. Not difficult to crush a soul.

"Magic." He puts all his anger and disdain into the one word.

Magnus' eyebrows raise, as do his still-pulsing hands. "And just what do you think your precious runes are? Not magic?"

Tessa breaks in, admonishing them both, but Will barely hears her words. There is something evil coming, he can feel it. He edges himself in front of her, yet again subconsciously protecting her even though he has devoted so much to making her hate him. The cold of battle begins to settle over his shoulders when he sees the demons, but it is rudely interrupted when he actually sees the group approaching them. He is barely aware of the crackle of Magnus' magic, of Tessa's stifled cry.

"You."

A hundred things hit him at once. Hope, dread, elation, terror, agony, all vying for attention in his brain. It is a miracle after all, a sign from Heaven. All is not lost. Even in this darkest hour, hope springs eternal. The blue-skinned demon doesn't know what's about to hit him. Years of anguish and anger and hurt have broken free from his heart tonight and this bloody, goddamn demon is going to feel every last bit of it.

"Er, I don't recall-" Will's eyebrows shot up and the demon faltered. "That is, I don't think I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance?"

If there had been any hope of Will maintaining his composure long enough to maintain a civil conversation before the beast was cast back into Hell, it was most certainly obliterated then. Will felt, not the cold of battle, but a white-hot rage, one he'd never experienced before and was sure to be deadly. To whom was yet to be decided.

"Liar!"

He was blinded by the white rage until all that he could see was the demon. Magnus would take care of Tessa, see that she made it home safely. He knew this intrinsically and was not worried about her safety at all. Nothing else mattered now. He lunged for the demon, caught it, and they rolled. His Shadowhunter training blurred with his murderous instincts, making him sloppy. The demon twisted out of his grip and ran for it's life.

The mad fight that ensued when he caught up to beast and tackled it to the ground was all a blur to him. Twice, he'd had the upper hand and twice, the damned creature escaped him. The third time he caught it was when the demon bit him in an attempt to flee. The pain was enough to knock Will out of his white-hot fog of rage and loosed his grip on the demon, allowing it to take off again.

Will cursed, loudly and creatively. One of his curses was actually quite creative and he made a mental note to tell Jem it if he lived. His arm rather hurt and he didn't know where his stele was. There was a pretty good chance the demon's bite was poisonous and he had no way of getting home either. He grimaced and lifted his arm to examine the wound and laughed aloud. There, embedded in the torn mass of blood and muscle, was a tooth.