Hey! Sorry I didn't update for so long... My computer was stolen for quite some time... (How suspicious...) At least Ethana and dolphin231 won't chase me with knives when I get to school tomorrow now... :0... Anyway, here you go.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Mortal Instruments or any of the characters in this story except for Eve...*sigh* Broken dreams...

P.S: Happy Valentines Day! (A.K.A- Excuse to Kill a Downworlder Day!... ) ... Enjoy reading!..)

P.S.S: I tried to divide the POV's with something other than a huge line, but nothing else worked so...

Chapter 2:

Luke swung up to the curb in his old pickup truck and slammed his foot onto the brake. It had been close to 9 o' clock when he got the call from Freaky Pete, and after that it had taken him less than twenty minutes to reach the Hunter's Moon in the New York traffic. What Freaky Pete had said on the phone sounded vague and brief, nothing more than a few sentences about a Shadowhunter at the Moon looking for him, but Luke knew Pete well enough to understand that something bad was happening. Pete wouldn't have called him unless it was urgent.

Heaving the truck door open, Luke slid out of the cab, into the pouring rain, and within moments, he was drenched. His flannel shirt clung to his skin and his hair plastered to his forehead like dark brown seaweed. Through squinted eyes, he looked up into the black sky and the torrential downpour of rain. The clouds seemed to have no end; sprawling as far as the eye could see in every direction… He shook his head absently before making his way to the door of the Moon.

When he shoved the door open, he'd expected, well, someone impressive-looking waiting for him; a Shadowhunter decked out in their midnight-colored gear, or one of the Silent Brothers in their pale, noiseless glory. Instead, he got a flash of golden-blonde curls that immediately made him think, Jace. But as the figure stood up, Luke could see the differences: the hourglass body-shape, the long, graceful legs, and he knew that this, certainly, wasn't Jace.

"Pete," Luke called out. Everybody stared him, casting pointed, sideways glances at the girl by the counter before returning their gazes to him. Something didn't feel right, he noticed - something in their silence and their wary expressions… "Pete. What's wrong?"

Luke could see the muscles working in Pete's jaw, even from a distance. Pete leaned over the counter abruptly, staring the girl intently in the eyes. "And you're still sure you want to do this?" he whispered in a low, rumbling voice.

The girl nodded, slowly and deliberately, making Pete's already tense shoulders tighter with defeat. "Her," he growled, stiffly jerking his chin toward her. "She's the one who wants to talk to you." Oddly enough, Pete seemed angrier with himself than with her.

That girl? , Luke thought. She's the Shadowhunter? His blue eyes scanned her head to toe, and then examined her a second time, and then again. He searched for a clue; some sort of sign like a scar or a Mark or a rune that indicated she truly was one of the Nephilim. But there wasn't any convincing evidence. And Luke wasn't really certain that she was one of the Nephilim.

With a sort of formal elegance, the girl turned and faced him, and when Luke saw her face, he again thought of Jace. Though this girl had nothing of Jace's arrogance in her, they both shared the same, compelling, golden-type looks, and a similar, handsome, structure to the mold of their faces; but that was where the similarities ended. He couldn't see anything about Jace in the way she held herself. After all, Jace always looked like a warrior, even when he was only standing. But this girl had something about her; something humble yet dignified, a perfect balance of fragility and pride that was somehow just as intriguing as Jace's cool arrogance. A more noticeable difference, however, was her expression; oddly vulnerable- something Jace's never was. Astonishment flickered in her crystal blue eyes like icy flames. "You," she began, breathlessly; fixing her stunning eyes on Luke. "-You are Lucian Greymark…"

Confusion and awe followed each other across her features, reminding Luke of Clary when she was young, getting her first set of drawing pencils as a birthday gift. Her eyes studied his face carefully, almost tentatively; as if she was searching for something just below his skin. Obviously, she knew about him one way or another- he could see that in her eyes- but he still wasn't sure what his connection was to this girl. He'd never seen her before in his life.

She dropped her gaze almost shyly and tightened her grip on the blood-red cloak in her arms. As her wrist moved, Luke caught sight of a tell-tale flash of silver on the back of her hand: a scar, but the scar was somehow wrong. Yes, the Mark it came from was one that all Shadowhunters wore; an eye-shaped Rune that allowed for clairvoyant sight and extra dexterity with weapons… But that Mark wasn't supposed to fade into a scar. It was one of the few Marks that never left a Shadowhunter; it was supposed to be permanent.

"What is it you needed to talk to me about?" Luke asked.

She glanced down at the floor, her long, silvery lashes casting soft shadows on her delicate cheekbones. "I want you to turn me into the Clave."

"What? On what grounds?" he sputtered incredulously. Luke shot a glance at Pete, but he was turned away, busying himself with scrubbing the bar. He had never said anything about this girl being a criminal.

"I've committed treason against the Clave."

"Treason?" Luke gave her a judging glance. "Look," he began. "Whatever it is you think you've done, I'm sure that the Clave won't consider it as serious as treason-"

"No," she answered in a small voice. "They will." She glanced up at him, self-hatred blazing in her eyes like fire behind tinted glass. She set her jaw stubbornly, with an arrogant tilt to her chin that made her look more like Jace than ever. "I," she began coldly. "-Am a member of Valentine's Circle. I was the one who aided Jonathan in bringing down Alicante's Wards, and I was the one who caused the bloodshed that followed."

A few astonished, vicous snarls came from the lycanthropes between her and Luke. Everybody there had fought in the battle of Brocilind Plain or knew of a fellow wolf who had waged that bloody war. Most Shadowhunters would have thought twice about angering such a large group of lycanthropes, especially to that degree, but not a single flicker of fear touched her expression. The only sign of emotion from her was the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

"I deserve whatever the Clave punishes me with, Lucian." she finished in a tired voice. "Those aren't even the worst of my sins." She exhaled raggedly, and the proud tilt to her chin disappeared entirely, as if the effort of acting so conceited had exhausted her. Luke was still wrapping his mind around what she'd just said. A member of the Circle?, he thought. She knew Valentine? … She didn't look like much of a villain to him at all; there was too much innocence in her. She simply looked lost; in the same way he'd been lost after his first transformation, and he could feel her vulnerability and loneliness as if it was his own.

"Come on," he said evenly, gesturing to the narrow hall-way.

She nodded without meeting his eyes and followed him past the glowering group of lycanthropes into the shadowy corridors of the Moon.

"Clary," said Jace, trying to hide the amusement in his voice. "That is not how you hold a sword."

Clary glared up at him, her green eyes flashing angrily. No matter how hard she tried, it was always impossible for her to wrap her hand around the hilt the way he'd told her to. The handle always seemed too bulky compared to her tiny hands, and the blade never felt quite balanced when she held it in the way he said. There was either too much weight at the tip of the sword or too much weight near the hilt. Of course, Jace was perfect at these things, and asking him to explain the dos and don'ts of sword-handling only made her more jealous of his natural talent.

She meant to throw him a clever comeback, but a buzzing vibration from her back pocket caught her short. She tucked a wisp of her red hair behind her ear and grabbed the cell phone out of her jeans, glancing at the caller ID.

It was Luke.

Immediately she flipped the phone open and pressed it to her ear. "Hey," she greeted. "What's up?"

Luke skipped the small talk. "Is Jace there?" he asked. There was something stiff and businesslike in his voice that she didn't like.

"Yeah. Why? Is something wrong?"

Silence.

He deftly changed the subject. "Can I talk to him?"

"Why?" she demanded again, worry freezing her chest. She glanced to her side; watching as Jace's gold eyes darkened with concern. "Luke. What's wrong?"

Luke sighed. "Clary, please; just give the phone to Jace."

"No," she insisted, her hand gripping the phone even tighter. "Not until you tell me what's going- "

Jace unexpectedly snatched the phone from her, and the rudeness of the action caught her off guard. She briefly considered whacking him over the head, lashing out at him in anger… but then she saw his face and the tension in his mouth. "This is Jace," he said, his eyes boring holes into the hardwood floor of the Institute.

At the other end of the line, Clary could hear a buzzing sort of noise that must have been Luke. She buried her hands in her sweater pockets; waiting uncomfortably for some kind of a reaction from Jace to tell her what was going on. When she finally got one, it wasn't good. Color began to slowly drain from his face as Luke continued to talk, making his golden hair and eyes startlingly dark against his skin. He glanced at her suddenly, his face hard, almost angry. But he wasn't looking at her. His eyes seemed to be staring past her, his gazed fixed on the wall behind her.

"Are you sure?" Jace questioned; his voice level and fierce.

There was a buzz at the other end. Jace's jaw stiffened.

"Consider it done," he said, flipping the phone closed.

Clary snatched her cell back from him as soon as he was finished. "What's going on?" she demanded furiously.

His expression was unreadable when he finally looked at her. "I'm bringing you home."

"But why? What did Luke tell you?"

His shoulders were tense, but the tone to his voice was light; almost carefree. "If he wanted you to know, he would've told you don't you think?"

"Jace," she growled. "This isn't funny."

He shrugged. "All you need to know is that you're going home," he said simply, as if that would answer her question. Clary threw him a venomous glare, but he didn't seem affected by it. Jace was stubborn- almost as much as she was. She knew he wasn't going to tell her anything.

He crossed the room with cat-like grace and vanished through the doorway. When he reappeared, her coat was hooked on one of his fingers.

"Come on," was all he said.

With a childish scowl, Clary stormed across the room, grabbed her jacket from Jace, and stomped down the dim hallway to the elevator. "Whatever," she mumbled. At least if she went home she might get an answer to her question; from her mother if no one else.

Jace followed behind her wordlessly, making her even angrier because of it. Ever since the battles with Valentine and Jonathan- even after she'd proven herself to be a capable, strong Shadowhunter- she felt as if everyone still treated her like a useless mundane. Tutors had come to the Institute to replace Hodge as well as train her, but the most basic of lessons were difficult for her. Really, she wasn't improving at anything; except maybe for her ability with Runes. She would think sometimes of Ithuriel and wonder if he had just given her the gift to create Marks and had unfairly given Jace all the rest. It certainly seemed that way to her.

When they got out onto the street, Jace hailed a cab and Clary climbed in without looking at him. She sat sulking with her arms crossed moodily over her chest, refusing to let the familiar smell of stale cigarettes in the upholstery comfort her. Jace tried to start a conversation with her a few times, but she ignored him. And the fact that she managed to not talk to him for the entire ride home was a small victory.

As soon as the driver pulled to a stop in front of her apartment, Clary stepped out and slammed the door shut, leaving Jace to trail after her. He did so almost instantly, with a quick nod to the cabby before the taxi sped off into the thick, rainy night. Together, they scaled the stairs to her floor in an eerie silence and Jace knocked on the door impatiently. Why he was the one being impatient Clary couldn't understand. She was the one who wasn't getting any answers. After a moment, her mother answered the door. Clary could see the simple wedding band glittering on her mother's left hand as she held it open. Her hair was carelessly tied back; unable to disguise the expression of complete bewilderment on her face. But that look hardened when she saw Jace, and as she turned her gaze to her daughter.

"Clary," Jocelyn began in a measured voice. "I thought you were going to stay at the Institute for a few more hours. Is something wrong?"

She couldn't help but notice the icy glances her mother was shooting Jace's way. She might have been worried if he took any notice of it, but he didn't seem aware of the hostility at all; Jace was lounging against the wall and inspecting his finger-nails, contemptuously unaware of his own personal elegance.

"You mean Luke didn't call you first?" Clary asked carefully. Jocelyn eased into the doorway with a fresh look of bafflement, and the response temporarily made Clary forget her anger towards Jace. Did her mother really not know something was happening? And if she didn't, what was so serious the Luke would call Jace before his own wife?

"Call me?" Jocelyn repeated inquisitively. Her green eyes sparkled as she shook her head. "No, Luke hasn't talked to me since this morning…Unless…Oh God," she added. Fury and horror began to storm in her peridot eyes, along with a realization that Clary couldn't understand. "Clary, you're not pregnant are you?" she pronounced in a chilling, terrifying voice. "-Because if you are, I swear by the Angel that I - "

Clary felt her cheeks turn an unprecedented shade of red. Behind her, Jace gave an arrogant scoff. "Believe me," he replied in a dry tone. "I have better things to do than impregnate your daughter."

Jocelyn gave him a glare that would have made most, normal people turn on their heels and run. As it was - it was Jace- and Clary could only watch in horror as he shot her mother a malicious grin.

She could have sworn she heard her mother's temper snap.

"I'm NOT pregnant, mom." Clary clarified in a steady voice, before things got out of hand. "It's Luke. He called me and wanted to talk to Jace…"

Her voice trailed off as she turned around, studying Jace's face. She only hoped that he could fill in the blank that she couldn't. A somber expression passed over his features before he spoke, in the way that made him seem more like a Shadowhunter than ever. He seemed distant to her; almost untouchable.

"Luke is bringing a girl to the Institute. He wasn't very specific, but it looks like she was in the Circle. She's claiming to have helped bring down Alicante's wards, along with a host of other things."

Jocelyn's body went rigidly tense at the mention of the Circle; as if she'd been submerged in ice-water. "Is she dangerous?"

Jace shrugged. "Dangerous enough for him to want Clary out of there. I didn't ask too many questions."

There was something that glinted in Jace's eyes; as if he knew more, but had already decided against saying it. Clary turned from him and glanced up helplessly at her mother's stern face, fighting the urge to scream. She knew what this new stranger at the Institute meant. Her training there was being temporarily thrown out the window.

"Then Clary will stay here until this mystery girl is gone," Jocelyn responded. Authority rang in her voice, as if that was the end of discussion.

"Mom, please," Clary cut in. "I need to go to the Institute. I have to keep training…"

"Your training can wait, Clary."

Her mother nodded stonily at Jace and thanked him for bringing her home, but Clary didn't wait to hear Jace's response. She pushed past her mother and bolted into the apartment, ignoring them both as they called her name.

Luke flipped his phone closed with a snap and slipped back into Pete's office.

The room was messy, littered with envelopes and papers and unopened bills, but that wasn't what struck him most. The blonde girl from before was sitting in a shabby office chair, looking painfully out of place. Her regal posture and inhuman elegance seemed only amplified by the dinginess of the room, and it was bizarre to see her surrounded by such a mess; like seeing a priceless painting hanging in a run-down shack. It made him feel embarrassed to think he had ever brought her there in the first place.

She didn't seem to mind the clutter. Even as cold and drenched and lost as she was, she seemed forever radiant; as if she was made of pure sunlight. Her loose, blonde curls had begun to dry, and the hair cascaded down her back like rivers of gold to where it ended at her waist. Her knee-length black dress had become strikingly dark against the fair, flawless skin of her arms and legs, splotched even darker in the parts where it was still damp with rain-water. Her hands were folded in her lap, her jewel-blue eyes cast downward in an expression of barely concealed misery; like that of an angel being shot out of the sky…

She was beautiful, he realized, suddenly; in the way that the rolling green hills and chiseled mountains and clear glassy lakes of Idris were beautiful. It was a wholesome beauty, an untainted beauty; something rare and unique that could only be found in one tiny pocket of the world…

With a harsh noise, the door clicked closed behind him. The girl looked up as if startled by the sound, but Luke glanced away before her gaze could meet his.

There was a moment of silence.

"Was that Clarissa?" she asked. Her voice was soft, but steady; without a hint of fear.

"I don't think you're in much of a position to be asking questions."

She didn't respond; didn't even seem interested in defending herself. "What's your name?" he asked after another pause.

"Eve."

Eve, Luke thought. No. He had never heard that name before: especially not where Valentine was concerned. Which made it just another piece of information that didn't add up.

Nothing about her, in fact, seemed to make any sense. She claimed to be a member of the Circle, but was willing to surrender to the Clave. She used Shadowhunter vocabulary, but only bore a single Mark. She allied herself with Valentine, yet went to lycanthropes- Downworlders- for help. The whole story seemed off.

And why Valentine would want her in the Circle at all was a mystery. This girl didn't look like a warrior; she didn't appear physically strong or have any scars to suggest that she'd ever been in a battle. What could Valentine have possible gained by having her at his side? She was beautiful to be sure, and captivating as well, but she was hardly a weapon of mass destruction. But if what this Eve-girl said was true, Valentine had certainly prized her; and had kept her very secret indeed. Luke had never caught so much as a whisper in Downworld of such a girl…And if Downworld had no idea about her, then the chance that the Clave knew anything about her either was slim.

She was entirely still as she waited for him to speak: The only indication that she was even alive was the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. He briefly wondered if that patience was natural to her, or if it was something she had learned from years of practice.

He pulled up a dusty, plastic, fold-up chair and sat down in front of her, his glasses flashing white as they caught at the light. "How much do you know about me?"

She- Eve, rather- glanced up at him, her features set with pain. "Only what Valentine told me. He said you were once his closest friend, his parabatai; until the day you betrayed him at the Uprising."

Mention of the Uprising brought back a stream of memories to Luke: fighting with Valentine on the dais of the Accords Hall, wild with fury, surrounded by the battle and the blood… "My friend Pete said you asked for my name, but didn't give a description. Did you know what I looked like before now?"

"No," she replied. "Valentine never allowed me to see pictures and he never gave a physical description of anyone he talked about."

"Do you have any idea why he wouldn't tell you?"

She shook her head slightly. "I never asked."

Luke gave her a critical look. It was strange, he thought, the way she addressed Valentine- not Lord or Master or another variation of the two- but by his first name; as if they were friends. It was another thing that didn't really fit, but she seemed honest. He could only assume she was telling the truth.

"Why turn yourself in to the Clave?" Luke asked. "Why not run; go into hiding? You already escaped the Clave's judgment. So, technically, you're a free woman." He folded his hands in his lap. "What made you decide that getting caught is better than staying out of trouble with the Clave?"

At that, she lowered her gaze to her hands. There was a long silence before she spoke and when she looked at him again, Luke regretted asking the question. "I-," she began, her voice barely a whisper. "-I can't help but think that I'm disobeying him- disobeying Valentine- somehow… by living… living when he is gone." She let her voice trail off as she spun her head to the side, gluing her bright eyes on the wall. Luke had been to enough funerals to know that expression; and to know how hard she was working to fight back tears.

"Why come to me, then?" Luke replied quietly. "When you knew how much Valentine hated me?"

She turned back to him slowly, her expression as vulnerable as a small child's. "I hoped that you would understand why."

"Why what?"

"Why I loved him," she whispered in a distant voice.

Luke was taken aback. "Love who?" he sputtered. "-Valentine?"

"No," she breathed in the same entranced voice. Her hair danced as she shook her head. "No. Not Valentine…"

Luke only had enough time to narrow his eyes in confusion before his phone rang. The sound was cruelly abrupt, making his hand fly to his pocket instinctively. The number on the caller ID was unfamiliar, and Luke answered it suspiciously.

"Hello," said Luke, not looking away from Eve.

"It's Jace," a recognizable voice replied. He could hear the sound of traffic in the back-round, as if he were calling from a payphone.

Luke sighed. "Is anything wrong?"

"No." Jace replied. "Clary is safe at home. I'm heading back to the Institute."

"Alright," Luke answered. "Thank you."

He flipped the phone closed, buried it again in his coat pocket, and turned his attention back toward the girl.

"Eve," he said. She looked up at him through her eyelashes; as if she was avoiding his gaze. "You're going to have to come with me to the Institute. The Clave authorities will want to know that you're being held in a secure location."

She nodded simply.

He took a quick scan of the room, looking for something he could use to bind her hands. Ideally, handcuffs would have been of the most use to him, but there was nothing there that suited his purposes; or so he thought. Suddenly, he spied a length of industrial size chain- the kind that tow trucks used for hauling other vehicles. Luke wondered for a moment why it was there, until he realized: That heavy-duty chain was one of the few things strong enough to restrain a werewolf during a transformation. It made sure the lycanthropes didn't run rampant around New York City in wolf form. And it would certainly hold an unmarked Shadowhunter.

A little overboard, Luke thought, but at least she won't get away.

She seemed to read his mind. As soon as he got the chain, she outstretched her hands, letting him knot the metal coil around her delicate-looking wrists. She didn't complain, although Luke knew that the weight of the bulky, makeshift manacles must have been treacherous. Even his arms were strained as he carried the weight. He couldn't imagine how heavy it must have been for her…

Following his lead, Eve silently trailed beside him. He walked out of the Hunter's Moon and into the rain-drenched street, glancing at his side every few seconds to make sure she was still staying in line. Her blood-colored cloak was still clutched in her hands, and her satchel was still slung on her shoulder. She held to them as if they were the last things she had left. He wondered if they were.

As they reached his truck, Luke opened the passenger-side door and Eve climbed into the seat obligingly; without him having to ask her to do anything. The downpour of rain seemed less impressive than before, as if the pounding of water on his truck had begun to bore him. He squinted up at the sky for a moment, then in a single motion he opened the driver-side door and swung himself up into his place. It was surprising how grateful he was, to be out of that rain, in his familiar truck.

He made to get his keys out of his pocket- and cussed as he was interrupted, yet again, by another phone call. Without scanning the caller ID, he flipped open his phone and pressed it to his ear. He stole a quick glance at Eve before he spoke, but already she was staring out of the rain smeared window, seemingly unaware to what he was doing.

"Hello?" Luke answered, his tone gruff.

"Luke," breathed a familiar voice. "Luke, are you alright?"

He would have recognized that voice anywhere.

"Jocelyn," He sighed. "Yeah, I'm fine. I –"

"Jace told me what's going on," she cut in. "I just wanted to make sure you were safe…"

Luke let himself smile. "I'm fine."

"Good." she replied. There was a pause on her end. "You'd better go."

"Yeah," he frowned. "I'd better."

There was another pause.

"I love you Luke." was all she said.

He swallowed with some difficulty. "Yeah. You too."

As soon as he pressed the end button he glanced to his side and saw Eve. There was an expression of total wonder on her face. "That was Jocelyn, wasn't it?" she asked. "The Jocelyn Fairchild…"

"Jocelyn Greymark, now," Luke grinned, staring out the windshield.

To his surprise, she smiled back, but the expression was bittersweet. "It must be beautiful," she said quietly. "To be loved like that."

He shot a quick look at her, wondering what she meant; but she was already gazing out of the passenger window, through the steady stream of water on the glass, out to the street beyond.

Hoped you enjoyed it! Thank you for reading!

PLEASE REVIEW! OR I WILL SEND VALENTINE MORGENSTERN AFTER YOU! ( I have connections, you know...)