A/N: I know this is a Malec. Really. It is at its core. But it is also an exploration on what it means to love. They say that love is patient and kind and whatnot… but it is also selfish, and painful and protective and sacrificing. Because even in our selflessness we work constantly towards getting what we want.
Cause love like a blow to the head has left me stunned
And I'm reeling, yeah, I'm reeling
And if you go, furious angels will bring you back to me
~Rob Dougan
Furious Angels
Slumped against a small brick ledge and a rusted water tank, Jordan didn't think the young boy looked older than ten and in the stormy overcast light of dusk he could have looked asleep if it wasn't for the gaping wound that had been torn savagely out of his throat or the blood that had dried black against his grey Avengers t-shirt.
As far as he could tell the boy's scent, though polluted by death, smelt human and there were no other physical signs to indicate that he had been otherwise.
Clenching his fists Jordan closed his eyes, swearing softly before muttering a few reverent words and dialing Praetor Scott, not at all surprised when the weary sounding leader answered on the first ring.
"I found another. A human child," he muttered quietly as guilt he had been trying to keep out found his heart like a knife.
Since the news of Nick's death he couldn't stop feeling like he was personally responsible for Maureen's victims. It didn't help that Praetor Scott had thought so too or the fact that every time he went back to headquarters he saw his failure in the rising numbers of mug shots that were growing; taking over the walls of the Praetor leader's office like some kind of unholy blight.
Like any outreach program of its kind, the Praetor Lupus did not have a history of a hundred per cent success. There were failures all the time. Not all subjects were able to acclimatize into their supernatural life. Some fell back into the cracks, some stayed rogue – most were killed or simply committed suicide. And yet Jordan couldn't quite believe that he had so far proven to be such a monumental disappointment – whatever Maia had to say about it, which lately had been a lot because despite everything that had happened, the orders were still to try and assimilate the young vampire instead of kill her on sight.
"I still don't see why you can't just let the Clave deal with this." Maia's steady chocolate gaze held his from her seat on the kitchen counter top that morning as they waited on the sizzling bacon. Dressed in one if his comfy old shirts, he watched as she uncharacteristically nibbled the end of one of her braids.
"Because everyone knows what the Clave will do with her," he said, expertly flipping the contents of the pan. "Then we might as well let the vampires have her."
His mind was still partially on Nick's funeral that had been held a few days before. It hadn't been a big service, but most of the New York Praetors that Jordan was familiar with had stopped by to pay respects. Already there had been rippling murmurs among the New York werewolves about highly organized vampire-led attacks, much to the chagrin of the Praetor Lupus. So far they seemed to be the only group concerned with trying to stop a full scale war between the two species and Jordan couldn't help but think that there had already been way too much death.
From the counter top Maia rolled her eyes. "The vampires should have her. This is their mess," she pointed out.
"But they'd kill her."
"Exactly."
Turning off the gas, he frowned as he turned to her, unsure of how to voice his thoughts. Maureen was just a little girl, barely fourteen, he reminded himself, his thoughts wandering back to that night in the alley; Simon standing over her lifeless body as he drank and drank and drank…
"She didn't choose this path."
"And neither did I!" Maia huffed. "But most of us don't just go around like lunatics, biting and killing people."
Tensing at her words he couldn't help but look away as guilt and shame burned holes into him. He knew she wasn't talking about him or what he had done to her in the past but it was hard not to see it that way.
She seemed to realize her mistake and her features softened as she hopped down from her counter to snake her arms around his torso in a comforting hug. Her body was warm and soft and he could feel her heartbeat against his back.
"You're different," she murmured softly into his skin. "You didn't kill anyone. You're nothing like her."
However instead of making him feel better he found no comfort in her words.
They say when you are in the height of your first transformation into the wolf that you're not yourself – that you have no memory of it. For Jordan that had been the furthest from the truth. He remembered everything about those wretched weeks – how he had hit her; how they had jealousy and rage. You have no idea what I would have done if the Praetor's hadn't been watching, he thought as he gazed helplessly back into her safe chocolate eyes. You have no idea of how I used to be.
"Kyle?"
The silence ended as Praetor Scott's voice over the phone brought him firmly back to the present.
"Tell us where you are; we'll send someone. Meanwhile just keep looking."
Eying the body, Jordan quickly told the Praetor leader the cross streets and listened to the tell-tale sounds of him marking the location on the map of Manhattan that was stuck up on one of the walls in his office. In his head for some reason he imagined 'someone' to be a warlock clean-up crew that would miraculously cover up the morbid scene with colourful jets of magic and a whirl of sparkling glitter…
He snorted.
More likely it would be a few older werewolves who happened to work for the police, he thought as he pushed through the rotting door that lead to the stairwell and back downstairs. His hazel eyes lit like an animal's in the dark and he could taste the electricity in the air as the thunder rumbled above.
If it only were that easy, he thought darkly, pulling the hood of his jacket up as he felt the first drop of rain.
By the time Jordan crossed into Alphabet City he was completely drenched and cold; the freezing wind tore through his wet jacket like paper. He was also very aware that someone was following him.
The darkness and the rain had made it hard to tell, but some kind of natural instinct had left him with the uncanny feeling of being watched that caused his hair to rise.
Around him the road ahead was unnaturally deserted and Jordan felt his heartbeat quicken when he thought he saw a flash of movement; a dark shadow sliding and merging into the surrounding darkness.
Adrenalin shot through him as he froze. His eyes shifted as he watched the shadows, trying to identify any kind of movement behind him as well as in front.
Everything remained still.
Straining his ears, he picked up nothing. Nothing except the dripping rain and the rapid beat of his own heart.
This is stupid, he chided himself. You're a werewolf. Freaking hold it together Kyle!
He was being paranoid. There was no one else around. He was alone. And he was just about to write it off as paranoia when he saw another flash of a shadow. Against the light it looked humanoid though it was too silent and a little too fast to be human.
Filthy little bloodsucker. Jordan growled softly.
If a vamp thought that it could hunt him like an animal it sure had another thing coming, he thought as he crossed the narrow street in time to see the figure leap down one of the buildings' external fire escape.
Quickening his pace, he broke into a run, his sneakers hitting the wet pavements as he sprinted, weaving through the narrow streets. Quickly he stole into one of the darkened alleyways, between a small Thai restaurant and Wong's Dry Cleaning. Metal grills barred the shop entrances after hours. Cold steel.
Tensing, he paused, hoping the rain would diffuse his scent as he tried to calm his breathing, waiting for another glimpse of his pursuer. Beneath the cuffs of his sleeves strong fingers had already turned into razor sharp claws and luminous wolf eyes scanned through the rain at the street from the alley. All around him echoed the roar of the rain, a low hum of a car and (if he strained hard enough) the ever so silent scape of quietened footfalls against tarmac that were quickly getting closer.
A fresh wave of adrenaline coursed through him, his breathing changing as he braced himself for the fight. It was inevitable. That much he knew. He might as well gain the element of surprise, stand his ground and do his best to rip the bloodsucker limb from limb. Praetor Scott would not be pleased.
Lowering himself into a crouch, Jordan felt his muscles tighten, his whole body tense as a wire about to snap as the footfalls grew closer, adrenalin leaving a bitter taste in his mouth to match his racing heart as he waited in the downpour.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Closer and closer.
A shade of black flashed across his position and he pounced, attempting to catch his opponent in a grapple. Instantly the leech threw him off, sending him flying into cold, wet bricks. Twisting he turned, his spine curling as the transformation took him further into wolf form, making him stronger. Bending his knees, Jordan sprang once more, a large claw managing to slice through the thick, wet leather before he grabbed a hold, throwing his opponent backwards. His back hit the steel grills of a shop front with a metallic crash and steel grills rattled as Jordan lunched forward, one clawed hand curling tightly onto the leech's throat.
Under the small awning and the stark florescent light on the streetlamp, Jordan felt a flicker of recognition as his eyes met those of the boy before him beneath his thick fringe of hair. He gasped, eyes widening.
"You're Isabelle's brother." His brain was reeling – his adrenalin rush quickly turning to anger because sure enough he was. Deathly pale and angular, in the light Jordan could see the dark circles that were visible under his eyes, almost passing him off for a hungry vampire.
"Why the hell were you following me? I thought you were a fucking leech! Didn't anyone ever teach you not to sneak up on a werewolf?"
Annoyingly enough, other than being slammed into the shop front, the Shadowhunter looked completely and infuriatingly unfazed. He twisted himself out of Jordan's loosening grip before lowering his face with a smirk
"No. Actually that is exactly what they taught us."
The werewolf rolled his eyes. Were all Shadowhunters this irritating? "I thought the Jace was the one with the smart mouth." The guy clearly had a death wish.
The Shadowhunter shrugged indifferently. "He is, usually." And Jordan had to supress a growl because after all, this guy was one of Simon and Maia's friends.
"Whatever," he snapped, losing patience." I want to know why the hell you were following me."
"You're looking for a vampire." The words were a statement, making Jordan wonder how long he had been followed. "And rogue vampires are of concern to the Clave."
There was something about the way he said that – the hungry glint in his eyes – that somehow didn't quite sit well with Jordan. Not only did the oldest Lightwood seem to have some kind of reckless death wish, but he was also clearly on a war path of some kind, seemingly against vampires. If he ever found Maureen it wouldn't be an arrest as much as an execution.
His expression clearly conveyed his displeasure at the Shadowhunter's involvement but before he could even say anything, a piercing scream cut through the rain.
A/N: Apologies for the cliffie. It just made sense to stop there before I switched out of Jordan's pov. Anyway, I told you stuff is going to happen, so I will live up to that promise. Also who likes badass Alec? Certainly better than mopey Alec, no? Still, not that I wouldn't take Alec any way that he comes. Poor baby.
Anyway, leave me a review for motivation cause I have a feeling the next few chapters aren't going to be easy.
