The cold of a Romanian forest at night was not something Jonathan decided he enjoyed. The thick, padded coat he wore over his fighting leathers was warm enough, sure, but each new rush of fridged wind seemed to cut through the material like a frozen blade. He had no doubt his cheeks were flushed. The metal plated sheath strapped to his back to house his family sword might as well have been frosted in ice. Tucked into the back of his jacket as it was, he felt the cold of it down his spine. If nothing else, he needed to finish all this business soon, and then throw himself in front of a fire at the apartment.

The thought of warmth made him sigh, his breath puffing out in a pale cloud around his face as he trudged deeper into the snow blanketed forest. How the werewolves managed to live here for any length of time baffled the mind. They ran hotter than normal people, sure, but this was just ridiculous. He supposed desperation led them to some interesting decisions to escape Valentine.

A snapped twig announced the presence of another. The sound was deliberate, he knew. If the wolf had wanted, he could have been silent as a deer creeping through the brush. He wanted Jonathan to hear his approach. A good sign, considering that he needed to speak with him. He hadn't come to fight, but he wasn't stupid enough to assume they wouldn't bring it to that soon enough. It wasn't as if his offer was entirely normal.

"You have a lot of nerve to show yourself here." The werewolf that emerged from behind the trunk of a bare tree was probably over six feet tall. He was dressed in thick snow pants and a grey thermal shirt, but he had no jacket on. By the sheer width of his shoulders and the expanse of his broad, powerful chest and arms, Jonathan suspected it was deliberate. They had sent him an emissary in the form of a giant. A warning in itself.

"I did send a messenger, but I'm fairly certain you killed them," he replied in Romanian. The man paused only a moment in surprise before his eyes narrowed. "Perhaps the saying hasn't made it this far, but I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to kill them."

"We dispatched your demon." The werewolf growled. "What did you expect us to do?"

Something shifted softly in the forest behind him and Jonathan was careful not to react to the sound. If it weren't for his marks for acute hearing, him might not have noticed the gathering of wolves that now circled him. They were being cautious, as they should have with him, but he didn't like so many gathering. He was peerless in a fight, sure, but he wasn't a miracle worker. If they all attacked at once, things would get dicey. Best to get this over with and use his ring to teleport home as soon as possible.

"So when you killed this demon," he grinned at the scowling giant. As if he hadn't a care in the world. "Did you do so before or after it gave you my offer?"

"Offer," the wolf laughed roughly and spit on the ground. Clearly he wasn't a fan of the pitch. Unfortunate, Jonathan inwardly sighed, but not the end of the road. There were others to ask. He simply had wanted a pack of wolves that didn't associate with Luke and his hateful bunch of goodie two shoes. They disliked him most violently. It seemed as if this pack did as well. How inconveniently annoying.

"So that's a no then." Jonathan said it evenly enough, but he was slipping into an easy stance in the snow. Ready for the attack he could practically sense on the wind. The surrounding wolves were moving in closer, edging toward him.

The giant scowled again, shaking his head. "We have heard of you, Valentine's son. We will not fight for the monster that skins wolf children in the Americas."

Jonathan rolled his eyes, throwing up his arms in what looked like exasperation, but was really an excuse to get his hand closer to his sword. "That was one time!"

The giant's eyes narrowed hatefully. "It is only one of your many attrocities. We will not fight for a monster. Especially not the putrid spawn of that-"

His words were cut off by a singing of metal through the chill air. Jonathan pulled the sword from its scabbard on his back and sliced it through the giant's neck in a single, fluid motion. He watched the wolf's head tumble free of his massive body to plop heavily into the snow only a half second before his body followed.

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed at what had clearly been a wasted trip. "You don't have to be a dick about it."

The forest around him was peirced by a collective howl of fury. Someone, still in human form, screamed at the fallen wolf's body, but he didn't catch the words. He was already spinning to face the beast that exploded through the trees toward him on all fours. The black metal of his family sword cut through the dark shadow of fur as easily as it felled the giant. The silver stars stamped along its blade caught the dim light of the half moon overhead, glinting as he spun and sliced into the next attacking wolf. This one yelped, stumbling to the side, but it wasn't dead. Jonathan stepped forward to correct that, but something heavy and furless crashed into his shoulder. He grunted at the force, but managed to stay on his feet. The woman who'd tried to tackle him bared pointed teeth and flexed fingers tipped in claws as she crouched in front of him. He watched the muscles in her arms bulge with her partial change just before she sprang toward him with a cry. It turned into a scream when the claws she reached out to slash him with were lobbed off into the snow with the rest of her hand. She collapsed in a shreiking heap, clutching her stumped arm to her chest, but Jonathan put a stop to the irritating noise with a swift plunge of his sword.

Blood splattered the snow around him, dripping from his sword as he tugged it from her still corpse. The wolves were growling around him. Those on four legs circled him in search of an opening, those still in their human forms cursed him for their fallen comrades.

"Bastard," one of the dark haired men spat. His eyes were glowing an inhuman yellow.

"Not true," Jonathan cut his sword through the air and let the blood that clung to it splatter across the snow between them in a stream of crimson. "My parents were married when I was conceived."

"Monster," the wolf growled instead and Jonathan replied with a heavy sigh.

"Yeah. That's what mom said before she ran away with my sister. There's just no pleasing some people."

Clearly not in the mood for his jokes, the werewolf charged toward him with a growl. At the same time a wolf in its full fur sprang at him from behind. Jonathan felt himself grinning at the challenge, though he had to admit it wasn't much of one.

There might have been little over a dozen of them, but they fell like dominoes against his sword. Wolves yelped and hit the ground back in their human bodies and those that remained on two legs simply fell to the blade. The snow around him was a wash of dark red under the pale moon by the time he was done, his clothes soaked in it. Bodies lay scattered, some in pieces, others clutching holes through their chests or throats. Only one wolf remained alive when all was done. The wounded thing that had sprung at him for killing the giant. Now back in its human form, Jonathan could see it was a woman. She had crawled her way over to the headless body during the brief battle, and now lay over it crying softly. She flinched at the crunching of snow when he approached, but only looked up at him in hatred. Her Romanian was choked by her trembling, furious tears.

"One day," she growled. "All of this killing will catch up with you. You will be punished."

"It doesn't seem likely," he chuckled prodding at the giant's body with the tip of his sword. It worked to infuriate her further and she started to stand, but his blade was against her throat before she could attack. They stared at one another a long moment, and he watched a tear slide down her bloody cheek. She knew she was going to die.

"God sees you, demon. When you die he will throw you into Hell where you belong."

Jonathan laughed at that, crouching down in front of her with the point of his sword pressed into the hollow at the base of her throat.

"I guess it's a good thing my mother is the queen of Hell then, isn't it?" He winked at her brief, shocked pause. "I bet I'll get preferential treatment."

His sword pushed into her throat before she could tell him any more about the ways he'd be punished. He'd heard it all before anyway. Blah blah, demon spawn, blah. The werewolf choked on blood and convulsed in the snow a short while as he watched silently beside her. In the end she was wrapped around her giant, glassy, tear-filled eyes locked hatefully on Jonathan until the light in them flickered out and she was just as dead as the others in the frozen forest. He sighed to himself as he stood, using the snow to clean his sword before he sheathed it.

This was all a waste of time. It wasn't as if he had high hopes for this particular pack of dogs, or their willingness to fight for him, it was just that he was getting a little tired of going through the motions. Jonathan had no illusions about his popularity amongst the downworlders, but he had at least hoped some of them would fight. It seemed better than the alternative. Now he had to find yet another desperate group of mongrels to ask. Annoying. He was running out of time and Clary was becoming more perceptive to his leaving. He wouldn't be able to keep her in the dark much longer. He just hoped when it came to that, he'd have something to show for it. At the very least he would have to give her something soon. She had an irritating ability to throw wrenches into situations when she felt she was left in the dark.

The red head in question was still sleeping when he used his ring to teleport back into the apartment. A small mercy since the bloody sight of him would surely send her into a frantic tantrum. He showered quickly and disposed of his bloody clothes before she could see them. He was scrubbing the last smear of blood from his favorite silver bracelet when he made it to his bedroom. Clary lay there, tangled in the sheets and snoring softly into her pillow. He smiled at the sight and slipped carefully into bed beside her. He didn't bother dressing, there was no point. Instead he tugged a free corner of the sheet across his hips and turned to look at the sleeping red head beside him. His hand reached out to touch her face, but he thought better of it and pinched a fiery curl between his fingers instead, rubbing the soft hair as he settled into sleep. Tomorrow would be better, he told himself. He would find his allies if he had to threaten their loved ones over boiling pits of oil to do it. Eventually he would have his army, and then everything would change. The pleasant thought made him smile just before he slipped into sleep.

*

Clary blinked slowly into consciousness. Soft light drifted in through the far window of Jonathan's bedroom. The half drawn, black curtain only partially obscured the proof of morning. Or was it the afternoon? Clary blinked again, willing her eyes to focus until she was greeted by the sight of Jonathan beside her in the bed, still sleeping.

She took in the strange stillness of his expression, void of humor, or anger, or lust, he looked almost serene. He slept on his back, his head turned toward her on his pillow. His white blonde hair was a pleasntly rumpled mess, shimmering in the sunlight as she turned onto her side beside him. Clary watched the steady rise and fall of his bare chest, exposed by the grey sheet laying haphazardly across his hips.

Feeling almost bold for her inspection, Clary allowed her eyes to trail down the expanse of his chest, laced in the palest of scars from old marks, down across the lean musculature of his abdomen. She felt the briefest urge to reach out and run her fingers down along the pleasing expanse of taught flesh, to trace the curves of his abs down into deep V like indentions that lead from his hips to a much more private place. Smiling to herself at the warmth in her cheeks she looked back up at him. One arm was bent up between them, his hand resting on the edge of her pillow where a lock of her hair snaked across his palm, half enclosed in his fingers. He must have fallen asleep touching it. She took the softest of breaths, resting her head on her hands. The motion must have stirred him, because his eyes popped open in her next breath. She watched the silver that ringed his pupil expand and retract as his eyes focused on her.

"Good morning," Clary murmured, unsure what else to say when he'd caught her inspecting him.

"Morning," Jonathan said softly back. His voice was a low rumble, still thick with sleep. He yawned once, stretching out an arm, though the one resting on her pillow remained still. His dark eyes moved back to her and a small lazy grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"We're you watching me sleep?"

"A little," she answered sheepishly. "I only just woke up myself."

"Mm," he gave a noncommittal reply and pinched the lock of her hair in his palm between his fingers, rubbing it gently a moment. "I don't mind. I enjoy it when you look at me like that."

Clary felt her brow furrow just a bit, staring questioningly back at him. "Like what?"

His black eyes caught hers in a heavy, warm stare. "Like you want me."

She felt herself blush, falling silent. He held her in his black eyes a moment more before he pushed himself up and grinned down at her.

"Coffee?"

She nodded mutely and let him pull her gently up into a sitting position. When she moved to slide off the bed however, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. Jonathan turned her back to face him, and she realized suddenly how close he was when he leaned in and brushed a kiss against her cheek.

"Clary?" He murmured her name into her skin, his warm breath only a little hotter than her cheeks and her eyes fluttered to his. His mouth moved to the corner of her own as he smiled to himself and she drew a soft breath when he kissed her fully. It was a languid kiss, slow and hot and it made her shiver. When he pulled away her heart was hammering in her chest. What a way to start the morning.

Jonathan's smile turned sly and knowing at her flushed reaction. "Good morning," he said simply and hopped out of the bed.

He'd gone to sleep naked and she found herself watching through the cover of her hair as he pulled on a pair of dark jeans and padded out of the room barefoot. After a few deep breaths to steady her suddenly frazzled nerves, she followed in the green silk sleeping gown he'd provided from god knew where. It was short, hanging just over her thighs, with lace decorating the hem and thin adjustable straps at the shoulders. She suspected the bare covering had been a deliberate purchase for his benefit.

She could already smell the coffee when she made it to the kitchen. Jonathan stood half leaning into the refrigerator with his fingers drumming on the open door. When he heard her lean up against the opposite counter he glanced back over his shoulder and grinned.

"Hungry?"

"A little," she shrugged. "Do we even have anything left in there?"

"Hm," he pondered the contents of the fridge a moment. "It's pretty bleak. We're down to eggs and what is possibly take out, but most definitely poison at this point."

She wrinkled her nose. "Bleak indeed."

"I think it's time for a food run. Wanna do the honors?"

For just a moment, she was struck by the simple question. He was asking her to go shopping, by herself. Such a small thing shouldn't have meant much, but here, with Jonathan who rarely let her out of his sight since arriving at the apartment, it was something very different. He trusted her. For some reason she couldn't entirely understand, it made her almost happy.

Is that what this is? Happiness? To be allowed small freedoms?

She pushed the thought away, giving Jonathan a small smile. "I think I can manage it. They do still use money in stores right? Have the big machines that ring and spit out receipts?" At his arched look of question she laughed softly. "It's been a while since I've done any shopping."

His face remained carefully unresponsive to this small reminder that she had been all but a prisoner for nearly two years.

"Too much?" He asked softly, carefully watching her reaction. Clary shook her head.

"Exciting, weirdly." She looked down at her hands sheepishly. "I'll need money, obviously."

"I'll get some from the study. Valentine stashed some in a floor safe in there for emergencies."

"Sounds like him," she frowned slightly before Jonathan approached with a steaming mug of coffee and set it in front of her. It had creme and sugar, and she bet it was mixed exactly the way she liked it. Again she felt a startling warmth settle in her chest as she watched him return to the pot to fix his own. When had he learned how she liked her coffee? Did he really pay that much attention? She suddenly recalled the way he'd touched her hair so gently, the way it was laying in his hand when she woke. Such a simple thing, like going to the store, and yet with Jonathan the kindness was strange. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was certainly unexpected.

"So what will you be doing while I go shopping?" Clary took a tentative sip of the coffee, watching him over the rim. Jonathan turned to lean back against the opposite counter. He was smiling, but the expression seemed too tight to be entirely authentic.

"I have a few errands to run. Don't worry I can meet you back here in time for lunch. After that we can start your training. Your sword work is pretty pathetic."

"Errands?" She asked skeptically, ignoring the jab. He shrugged. After a moment, when it was clear he didn't plan to elaborate, she sighed and set down her mug. "Alright. Spill. You're hiding something."

To her surprise he didn't protest. "I am, but only for now."

"And why are you hiding things from me?"

"Would you believe me if I told you I didn't want to get your hopes up just yet?"

She arched a brow. "I don't know. Would that be the truth?"

He sighed and moved to stand beside her, setting down his coffee mug next to hers. "It isn't anything bad Clary. I just don't want to explain everything just yet, in case it falls through." When she continued to stare at him doubtfully he gave a soft laugh. His hand went up to her cheek to cup it softly, his thumb running back and forth across her cheekbone. "Trust me. Please? Just a little while longer, and I'll explain everything."

She started to protest, but bit it back with a slow exhale. He was showing trust in her. Couldn't she do the same?

"You promise to tell me what you're up to? No half truths?"

He nodded. "I will tell you what I'm doing."

Some part of her paused at that, recognizing that it wasn't entirely the same, but she nodded anyway. Jonathan gave a bright smile and leaned down to kiss her. It only lasted a moment, but it made her cheeks tingle with warmth before he pulled away.

"You should brush your teeth," he smirked, ruining the moment. "You've got morning breath."

He ducked around the hand she used to swat at him, laughing as he made his way toward the bedroom to dress. Despite herself, Clary found herself smiling as well.