I'd like to once again apologize for all the Aspen but I feel like there's so much behind the scenes ahhh :')

"Is it close?" Aspen inquired, letting the warlock take his hand to lead the way. "I don't have much time."

The warlock merely smiled, her teeth glittering in the light of the lamps in the Towns. She never answered his questions, leaving him thoroughly frustrated. Instead, she walked a little faster, the heels of her boots clicking against the concrete, a few strands of hair unraveling from her disheveled bun. Aspen just licked his lips, narrowing his eyes at what amusement lay ahead. His mind instantly went to his swords and his dagger just in case - there was no harm in keeping on edge.

Her fingers closed tighter around his wrist as she tugged him into an establishment, murmuring a password to the bouncer before a heavy door was opened to let them in. He had expected loud music, like a club, but instead he was greeted with the sweet sound of a violin and quiet chatter from down a set of stairs.

"It'll be fun, I promise," the warlock finally said with a grin, her forked tongue hissing behind her teeth. "And there's important people here too. They have lots of power."

"Oh?" Aspen raised his eyebrows, the door brushing against his wings as it was shut behind them. "Maybe you're more useful than I thought."

"Now, behave." This time, her words, although playful, sounded more like an order and Aspen pulled his wrist from her grasp to step closer. Looking down at her, he exhaled and ran a hand appreciatively down her side.

"I always behave," he responded, his eyes glittering before he turned to enter the strange room.

Though he didn't comment on the room, he looked around curiously and wondered what kind of a gathering it was. There were a few other faeries present, all of which were pure and winged as if they had been rounded up all for their pedigree. The more he studied the inhabitants, the greater the urge he had to put his hand to his side to make sure his swords were there and ready. Refusing to let himself feel too uneasy, he raised his chin, walking over to pick up a glass from a table.

From his position in the room, he surveyed from the corner bureau the rest of the species that had come to mingle. The warlock he had come with was on the other side of the room performing a few pretty tricks, making fireflies of sparks rain down from her fingertips. It was the type of magic Aspen had always wished he could do, no matter how impractical. There were no werewolves, as was expected, and Aspen had always thought of them to be a little too doggish for his liking and never regal enough to share the company of a faerie or even a vampire. Warlocks, unlike the rest, had no intricate customs, but they were knowledgeable and powerful and were notorious for giving good parties.

It didn't seem much like a party, though, and he swished the drink around in his hand. He could imagine Finn complaining in his ear about not knowing Aspen had consorts outside of him – Aspen would have quickly told him to be quiet – but alas, Finn wasn't there, and good thing too. He doubted it was a place for any untrained and unarmed and impure faeries.

He slipped easily in the midst of socialization, figuring it was one of those invitational Downworlder meetings that one was sometimes allowed to go to. He had only been to a few before, with his limited schedule, and found invitations flattering.

A foreign dialect mingled in with the air and Aspen listened keenly, turning towards where it was coming from. An odd couple seemed to be conversing, their faces crisp and attractive and otherworldly. Aspen could not help but stare, not above going over in curiosity to enter himself into the conversation. It was only when they realized he was staring that he registered that they were speaking Chthonian, yet were not warlocks. The woman lifted her chin and caught his gaze, beckoning him over with a hypnotic stare.

Demurely, Aspen lifted the glass to his lips to down it before setting it down and making his way over. Slowly. Leisurely. Carefully.

"Good evening," he greeted with a sharp, keen smile, his gaze flickering between the woman and her male companion. "It's interesting company here."

"Unused to consorting with demons?" The man - if Aspen could call him that - next to her spoke in soft tones, dressed sharply in a dark suit. "Most beings are."

"On the contrary, I do find them fascinating. In all aspects." Aspen's eyes lingered on both of their faces, finding that they looked eerily similar. Timeless, he assumed they were at least a couple thousand years old or perhaps even older, though their faces hardly showed any wear and tear of age.

Reaching forward, the man brushed a bit of black hair from Aspen's face, staring at him to study his features. He glanced to the side and remarked something in Chthonian to the woman, his tone suggesting mild interest.

"You're a Hunt faerie," the woman said approvingly. "That means you're a fighter."

"A fighter. Leader. Seductress," he replied playfully, unintimidated in the face of demons. "Depending on what others want me to be."

"...Sit with us. You will entertain, won't you?" Ushering him towards a nearby couch, the woman pressed a hand against his back to show him where they wanted him to sit. "It isn't often we see faeries that are anything close to being worthy of being the topic of conversation."

He didn't answer, merely leading the way to the couch to sit down on one end, carefully reclined back with a cat-like smile in his eyes. His eyes followed the woman as she leaned casually against the armrest, her features still and porcelain and disconcerting. The man, however, took a seat on the couch, keeping him under his examination as if he were a test subject.

"Then why me?" Aspen couldn't help but ask. "Although I am adored around here for my looks."

He didn't get an answer, though. It seemed like no one ever liked answering his questions. All he was conscious of was the slight sensation of the woman's hand running over his wings in fascination, murmuring unintelligible phrases under her breath. Aspen had become mutely aware of the fact that the entire room was sparkling, but he paid it no mind and decided to stare at the demon next to him instead.

His thoughts slowed as he tilted his head, trying to think of what to say. "You are pretty."

The demons exchanged glances before laughing, sounding delighted and smug. The other voices of the faeries and warlocks and vampires had been drowned out and all that Aspen could hear was the thud of blood in his ears.

"What's your taste?" The demon woman curled a finger in his hair, tugging on it slightly. "Our species are hardly concerned with gende-"

"Am I not allowed to have both?" He sucked in a breath, exhaling through his teeth. "I'm usually quid pro quo, but I suppose I can extend my company for free."

"Oh, don't believe that we owe you anything. You might think you are valuable, but purity is nothing to a demon." Lowering herself at face level by Aspen, she pursed her lips in a sultry smile. She rested a hand on the couch, partly to balance herself as she tilted closer. "I won't stoop lower than the best."

Aspen grinned at the thought of having a demon take a liking to him and he glanced between the two of them. They radiated an unearthly heat as if they had harnessed the heat of Hell itself, but he found it made them no less enticing.

"Tell me," the man started and he uttered a name that Aspen didn't catch. It was in a faerie dialect that time, and the sounds muddled in with the hum of the rest of the room. "When was the last time you shared company with a demon?"

"Maybe...A long while ago-"

The demon rested the edge of his hand beneath Aspen's chin to lift it, his glamour flickering in the glow of the room. "Our kind have been known to be addictive."

"Oh-" narrowing his eyes hazily, Aspen leaned forward slightly, "-what an Incubus you are."

A rush of tiredness flooded his senses for the quickest moment, his hand moving quickly to rest on the man's shoulder to steady himself. He let out a nervous laugh but was quickly silenced by the demon's next words.

"Your name should have been κίτρινο αυξήθηκε. A yellow rose. It can be for love...or infidelity. Of course, your name is already-" Again, there was the muddled word that the demon said, the sounds enticing and exotic and elegant although they flowed by too quickly for Aspen to understand.

"What was that you said?" Aspen breathed, entranced.

Then, the man smiled, his lips curling up in some sort of self-satisfied smile that both tugged at Aspen's heart and quickened it in fear. "Why, that's your faerie name, isn't it?"

About to answer, Aspen took in a strangled breath when the demon moved to kiss him, murmuring the name under his breath. Each pronunciation of the word was another hook in his heart, cutting in deeper until he was convinced that the only way to remove them was to reach in his chest, close his fingers around his heart, and rip it out entirely. A protest started on his lips but the only break he was allowed was one to catch his breath, scrambling back to the end of the couch. His back hit the armrest, though, and the woman, who had been surveying, only stood up to stop him.

"It's a pretty name, but the thing about faerie names," the man growled and, with a twitch of his features, his glamour parted for a split second to reveal the hollows of his eyes. "They're never really yours, are they?"

He attempted to respond but he merely tensed, sinking back into the couch where he found his wrist held captive by an iron grip he knew he could not escape. Giving a helpless cry, he winced at the sudden feeling of fire and he widened his eyes, expecting to see a red blaze before him.

"Holy shit," Aspen gasped, his skin burning wherever the demon touched him. A flinch crossed his expression, his cheek searing from where the man had brushed his hand against it. He lifted a hand to feel his cheek, but there was no mark, only a sense of sharp discomfort.

A hand grasped at his waist, burning into his side and Aspen could not help but jerk away.

"Stop-" he muttered but the word was a whisper on the tip of his tongue where it died in the feeling of smoke that filled his lungs. "I don't-...I-"

"He is but a mortal," the demon woman chimed, her voice smooth in the midst of things as she observed. "Do not be harsh with him."

"I am not mortal-..." Aspen sucked in a deep breath, a pressure growing on his chest. "I am...I am-...Let me go. Stop it-"

The pressure on his chest was not removed, a hand planted over his heart where his breaths quickened. Aspen was faintly aware of the feeling of claws digging into his skin, but the man was close - too close - and covered his vision completely.

"You are mortal here. Maybe in the faerie, you have eternity," the man hissed, his breath hot in Aspen's ear. "But with me, you are nothing."

"Stop-"

"Ah, you cannot mean that." The demon's voice was more smug than anything, his words playful and venomous. "Not when you have called me pretty. Not when you have named me to be an Incubus in your stupid haze."

He had nothing but a dagger, prying his hand from the grip of the demon to stab upwards, gagging when ichor splattered into his mouth. Rolling over, he landed uncomfortably on the floor and spat out violently, bits of black blood sprinkling the rug before him. His dagger was pulled from his hand, his fingertips singed from where the ichor had dripped onto them, and he grasped at the carpet without direction. He was no Shadowhunter, he knew, with no blessing from Raziel to fight back, but his instincts to lash out and find his sword overwhelmed him.

Hands closed around his waist to flip him over, his wings stinging as they scraped against the rough carpet. The edge of a claw snagged against the side of his shirt, tearing it until it dug into his bare side between his ribs but he didn't feel it - not when he was digging his own nails into his palm to try and focus.

He was vaguely aware of being kissed but refusing to kiss back, teeth scraping against his as he tightened his arms, hissing when he was granted the chance. Writhing, he balled up his hands into fists, the burning sensation increasing by the minute until he was convinced that he would catch fire in the instant. A shriek was pulled from his lips and he momentarily forgot how to breathe, how to blink, how to think and all he could do was try to get an arm free but his dagger was at least an arm-span away and there would be no point. He was vaguely aware that there was no man above him now, but a terrifying resemblance of one with large, oppressive wings that spanned overhead and eyes that reminded him of the ones the Hunt horses had.

"Stop playing with him," the demon woman ordered eagerly, her stare mimicked in the stares of all the other attendees. "Just get it over with and kill him or entertain us-"

"He's a faerie -" the voice came from above, "-and they don't break easy."

But things were already breaking apart around them and Aspen gasped as he was yanked backwards, half expecting to hit the ground but he continued to tumble, the imprint of hands and claws still scorching his skin. A laugh penetrated his thoughts but he could not assign it to a face, for all of them had been blurred together, eyes glinting in the dark, and he lashed a hand out to try and grab at something, anything, and his fingers closed around the hilt of a sword. Though he slashed out blindly, it did nothing to the weight that made it more difficult to breathe as if his lungs were being twisted like a wet rag. Through the air, whispers brushed the hair at his ear.

"Aspen. Darling."

He cried out at the voice on instinct, searching for where it came from.

"Aspen. Sweetheart. Aspen-"

He awoke quite calmly from an otherwise disturbing dream, blinking so he could make out Nyx's figure above him. Pushing himself up to sit, he let the covers slide from his shoulders, the cool air of the room chilling him where his nightclothes failed to cover.

"I had a dream," he said slowly and vaguely, a little delirious from tiredness, "That I was fighting a demon."

"Is that so?" Nyx sat down on the edge of the bed, though his features were entirely obscured by the dark. "Well you sounded as if you were distraught."

"…Maybe." Aspen leaned back against the headboard, his wings pinned behind him. "Did I disturb you? I'm sorry-…I haven't been sleeping well. I think I'm not used to spending so much time outside of the Hunt."

"It's alright, sweetheart." Nyx forgave him with a light touch to his cheek in a parental fashion, brushing a bit of black hair from his eyes. "If you-"

"Don't touch me." Sounding disturbed, Aspen flinched back from Nyx's hand, drawing in a shallow breath. "I'm sorry-...I just...I need to sleep."

Nyx's eyes flashed in warning at the command but he only stood up with a promise of a reprimand in the future. "Do get some rest. I can't have you in a bad mood tomorrow."

"I won't be."

Sinking back into the bed, Aspen pulled the covers over his body and around his head although his forehead was slick with sweat and he was breathing deeply for a shred of clean air. He wanted to know what had happened afterwards in his dream as if he'd be able to make sense of reality, but he never seemed to be able to recall the ends of things. They were grasped from him, the memories falling from his hands like sand in a sieve.

From his place on the bed, he stared into the corner and imagined the darkness into the silhouette of a demonic figure. Wings of shadows spread across the walls and, if he listened closely enough, he was sure he could hear the scraping of claws against the wood of the floor. He blinked again and the figure was gone. If he stared hard enough into any dark surface, his mind automatically formed it into the menacing shape of a demon as if it were chasing him.

He pressed his eyes shut and disregarded any fear or maddening thought that plagued his mind. He was being ridiculous, he was sure of it. If he didn't allow himself to believe in any of his nonsense, he was sure it would never be real.

After all, he always had an overactive imagination.