Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Summary: Isabelle is being followed by a certain vampire. But when her stalker saves her life will she learn to be grateful, or will the consequences lead her into a world of dark desire?
A/N: There's a bit of fluff in this chap-y. Don't blink, you'll miss it . . .
. . .
Haunted
"She's beautiful as usual, with bruises on her ego,
And her killer instinct tells her to,
Be aware of evil men . . ."
- Pretty Girl by Sugarcult -
Chapter 6 | Be Wary
The park is eerily quiet. No birds chirping in the trees, no distant sounds of traffic, no pedestrians passing by. Though Isabelle thinks that this isn't too odd because it is almost 1 o'clock in the morning and people are rarely out this late – or early she supposes – on a Tuesday.
Isabelle assumes that she will get scolded when she eventually returns home – her phone has already vibrated five times – but right now she couldn't care less.
She sits alone on a park bench, hands in pockets, under the safety of a tall willow tree and waits.
This is a bad idea.
Every now and again the thought will cross her mind, but then she will remind herself of why she is here (not who she is meeting) and the thought will fade.
Nineteen hours have passed since that morning when she had charged into Hodge's office, summoned Raphael and demanded to know his part in all of this.
Isabelle is embarrassed now, as she thinks of her childish behaviour. What Raphael must think of her . . .
Where she had babbled incoherently he had calmly suggested that they meet so they could talk about "whatever it is you're blabbing on about".
He had suggested the Institute, but she had made an excuse – something about "it's not like you can come inside anyway" – when in reality she just couldn't bear the thought of him being in her house; that and the fact that if her mother saw him, Isabelle would be dead meat.
Isabelle had suggested the Dumort – it was secluded and quiet; some place she could do a lot of screaming in if necessary – but the name had caused Raphael to become edgy and uncomfortable and that was when he had mentioned this little park in Brooklyn.
It is nice she guesses – all trees and grass and rose bushes around the edges – some place that would look nice on a hot summer's day, full of life and chatter, sunlight streaming through.
Now, in the pitch darkness, it just looks dead.
There is a rustle of leaves to Isabelle's left – one she wouldn't have heard were it not for her super-human hearing – and she turns at the sound, watching as the figure materialises through the foliage, just like it did in her dream.
Raphael sits beside her silently, not saying a word, simply looking at her, so she takes it upon herself to be the first to speak.
Isabelle clears the lump in her throat, "Thank you for coming," she says politely, because when she is around him she feels so intimidated, as if she is talking to a grown up, despite the fact that he cannot be more than two years older than her (not counting vampire years that is).
She notices how Raphael has to refrain from smirking at her when he answers with an amused, "you're welcome", Isabelle does not smile back, merely fixes him with a piercing stare because nothing about this situation is funny.
Seeming to detect her discomfort, the smile falls from Raphael's face and when his eyes look up to meet hers it is like he is looking straight through her.
"So Isabelle," he purrs her name, just like he always does – her mind goes back to the dream again and a shiver runs up her spine.
"Do you mind telling me why I'm here?"
. . .
The way she is reacting to him now – sitting as far away from him as the narrow bench will allow, body taunt and defensive, the only indication that they even know each other the steady eye contact they are keeping – makes him rethink his earlier assumption. It is not a mask she wears: it is a shell.
One which she seems to crawl into whenever he is near.
Raphael thinks back to that morning, at the Institute. The way she had talked to him, demandingly, as if she had some kind of power over him – which, though he hates to admit it, she does. It had reminded him of the night Simon had turned; she had been a spitfire then too.
He looks at her now and he can see that girl, shaking beneath the surface, begging to be set free. But, it would seem, Isabelle has more self control than he had originally thought and she sits, expression stoic – except for her eyes; they are wide, dangerous even – refusing to let loose neither the anxiety nor the anger that Raphael knows she is feeling.
It is only a matter of time.
"Do you mind telling me why I'm here?"
As soon as the words leave his mouth her body tenses. He is unsure as to what the reason for this is; the question or just the sound of his voice. When Isabelle answers moments later, he assumes that it is the latter.
"I went to see Simon yesterday," she pauses, expression distant as if she is reliving something unpleasant. Understandable: Raphael cannot remember a time when seeing her fledgling vampire friend hadn't been unpleasant.
"I told him . . . everything."
Raphael sighs, which surprises Isabelle judging by her expression, but the girl is infuriating him already and they have been talking less than five minutes.
"Isabelle, I asked you not to say anything-"
"And why shouldn't I?" she cuts in, "Do you have any idea what I am going through?"
Ah, Raphael thinks, there she is. There is that intriguing girl peeping through again, the one he has been waiting for.
He keeps calm, because watching her lose control like this is far too entertaining to be getting angry over.
"Well actually I do," he says impassively and Isabelle twitches, uncomfortable, as she realises the truth behind his words. Raphael is strangely assumed at the action.
He quirks an eyebrow at her questioningly when she shakes her head.
"No, no," she stutters, eyes still wide, looking and sounding every bit like a mad woman, "this is different," Raphael wonders if she notices when she shuffles closer to him with every word.
"Really?" he asks with a smirk, acting more amused than he really is, "how so?"
. . .
She doesn't realise how close they are until he speaks the words, but she does not move away. Isabelle leans closer, as if the proximity will force him to listen to her. What she does not know is that Raphael is hanging off of her every word.
"Because," she whispers and Isabelle supposes she looks demented like that – eyes wide, desperately clinging to her jacket as if it is a life line; from the way Raphael is leaning away from her, fruitlessly trying to hide his discomfort she supposes that she is right.
"I hear things. Voices in my head . . ." she notices how Raphael's brow puckers slightly, "Your voice. That's not normal is it?" she finishes challengingly.
Something flickers behind his hazel eyes but it is gone as quickly as it came and then Raphael's face is expressionless again, the unfathomable mask back in place.
There is not a hint of hesitation in his voice.
"Who are we to say what is normal?" he is so obviously putting off talking about this that she almost rolls her eyes.
"Simon said that people who drink vampire blood don't hear voices. Is he right? Do they?"
Raphael does hesitate before he answers this time, "Everybody . . . reacts to it differently . . . Hearing voices is perfectly normal."
A part of her tells herself that he is lying – that his hesitation is a sure sign of that – but another part of her refuses to listen, and Isabelle breathes a sigh of relief as his words echo through her mind.
"Good, that was all I needed to hear."
And then silence.
Isabelle stares at the ground for a moment after that, waiting for one of them to speak – she can feel his eyes burning holes in the side of her head.
Leave now, she tells herself. She's got what she came for, she can go. She should go.
So why does she feel like something is keeping her here.
Isabelle doesn't realise what she's saying until after the words have left her mouth.
"I got hit by a car today."
It is strange, Isabelle thinks, that moments ago she could hardly look at Raphael and now the words roll off of her tongue with ease. She is certain that she would be willing to reveal her deepest darkest secrets to him if he asked. She is also certain that there is some creepy, vampire reason behind it.
But, she will hand it to him that, throughout the conversation Raphael has at least remained (almost) civil. She almost feels bad for – more than once – having bad mouthed him to Simon. Perhaps he isn't as bad as she had originally thought.
Isabelle quickly rethinks that last statement when Raphael's laughter echoes around the deserted park.
So, maybe "laughter" isn't the right word – she cannot wrap her head around the idea of Raphael laughing; the mental image is almost disturbing – more of a scoff, but he is definitely amused. And by Isabelle's book, laughing at the possibility of somebody being hit by a car is just odd.
"That's not funny," the words are breathless and her eyes are wide, mouth hanging open in disbelief.
Raphael stops his scoffing, nose crinkling, regarding Isabelle with something like pity.
"I do wonder about you Isabelle. You never fail to surprise me."
So maybe he was only "scoffing" at her.
Isabelle has to push down the feeling when pride swells in her chest.
"Well I do try," she says – because she is Isabelle Lightwood, and despite how much Raphael creeps her out she is not one to miss an opportunity to flirt.
Raphael smirks, as if he knows her thinking, but then the atmosphere changes and they are staring at each other so seriously, so intensely, it makes Isabelle's head spin.
"How long will it last?" she whispers.
He pauses, studying her intently, before answering.
"A few weeks at most; just until the blood is out of your system."
And then he leans forward – she smells him: all musk and spice and something like cigarette smoke – and says something so warm she thinks she has to be dreaming for it to come out of Raphael's mouth.
"And I'll be there for you," he looks at her from under his lashes and Isabelle thinks that he is a damn good actor, "If you want me to be."
Isabelle looks away from his intense gaze because a part of her hates the idea – it wants Raphael to be out of her hair and out of her life as soon as possible. So why is another part of her almost glad?
. . .
So he lied. So what? Raphael is so used to lying by now that it is second nature to him.
And anyway, he assures himself, not lying (especially to Isabelle Lightwood, with her fiery temper) probably would have had disastrous consequences.
The truth is, never, not once, has Raphael ever heard of vampire blood causing anyone to hear voices. He had only told Isabelle that to put her at ease – that and the thought of her hearing his voice was almost . . . flattering.
He does not know what caused it.
Perhaps he was right. Perhaps everyone does react to vampire blood in different ways. Perhaps her unconscious mind has held onto the sound of his voice – his blood triggering its release in the form of a hallucination. Perhaps Isabelle is just insane.
For reasons unknown, Raphael hopes that it is not the latter.
He does not know what caused it, but one thing he does know . . . he intends to find out.
End Chapter.
. . .
A/N: Is it what you expected? Nah, me neither. Sorry if this seems a bite rushed, I just kept remembering things I wanted to put in and BAM!
Also, its safe to say that from now on Kick-ass!Isabelle will be making a return ;) And the Isaphael "relationship" will be . . . progressing. (I'm calling them that now because I can't be bothered writing Isabelle/Raphael – kinda defeated the objective there didn't I)
City of Fallen Angels tomorrow! I'm buzzing. I really wanted to get this chapter out before then – that's why its a bit sloppy – because until I've read it I will most likely be dead to the world. Yes, I'm that sad/obsessed. Sigh.
Thanks to Seph Meadowes and White Wolf for the reviews, hope you enjoyed.
Next chapter the angst returns! And Raphael does something . . . Unforgivable. GASP! I actually LOVE what's gonna happen next! :D Ahhhh . . .