Chapter Text
“You know, these aren’t skills that I’ve ever had to use,” Alec said. His blade gleamed under the grim lighting.
His hands wielded the blade confidently, but Alec wasn’t lying. Alec didn’t lie anymore. He had been taught by the fallout with the Soul Sword that events never ended well when he lied. Lying had made Alec more miserable than any other bad habit he possessed—and that was no small number.
Lying had almost married Alec to Lydia.
Alec would never insult Lydia; at least, not since he’d abandoned her at the alter mid-wedding ceremony. She was brave, smart, and driven, with a moral and ethical standard that Alec thought would shame even the Angels. Lydia was also Alec’s friend, the first he’d ever made outside of his siblings. They exchanged emails almost daily. Their marriage would have been a friendship dressed in duty. Alec could have been content but never happy, something he’d known since his first conversation with Lydia. He just hadn’t known that he had the right to ask for more.
Not until—
No. Don’t go there.
Alec was an observant one. He knew things, generally. He always knew when Jace would deliver a roundhouse kick that he needed to duck for. He knew that Izzy would always be able to identify a weird goo before scientists twice her age. He’d known that Max hadn’t had the Heat and Courage in Battle runes confused. Max had just been born with their mother’s temper and their father’s lack of self-control. Rune study had infuriated Max because Markham Hightower had been in his group. The kid had bullied Max for something like nine months before the fire incident. No one else had known that—Max still hadn’t learned how bad lying was—but he didn’t lie to Alec. A quiet hour spent sharing some ice cream together in Alec’s office had coaxed the whole story out of his little brother.
Alec’s lips threatened to frown. You couldn’t ignore a child, especially a Nephilim child being trained to use lethal measures. But there hadn’t been anymore fires since Alec had sat his brother down and let him know he didn’t have to handle every problem by himself. There, Alec thought bitterly. Parenting.
Alec didn’t swallow. He couldn’t. He didn’t frown or flinch or grimace. In this room, anger, sadness, and exhaustion did not exist for him. He was still water, the kind that ran deep. A mirror. The kind that reflected, from the corner of the eye, all kinds of horrors. He thought about Lydia and Jace and Izzy and Max because they were his center. In training, the instructors had taught him that his duty was his center. That when he used these skills, he should wrap himself in the glory of Raziel. Bubble wrap for the soul. You didn’t send something fragile through the bumpy mail service without bubble wrap. And Alec liked rules. He enjoyed order. He loved his duty. He honoured Raziel. But he valued none of those things so much as Jace, Izzy, Max, or his new friend Lydia. So, as Alec used these skills, his thoughts turned to them.
But now, Alec wanted to swallow. Because, recently, thinking of Max made him think of kids. And kids made him think of Magnus. In his heart, Alec really wanted kids with Magnus. But Magnus was never supposed to be in a room like this. Alec had failed to keep him out once already. Now, Alec’s wandering mind would make him fail again.
Don’t go there—
But Alec always, always failed.
Magnus was a being composed almost entirely of love. He fought like hell to hide it, tucking it behind glitter and sex and magic, but he was. Magnus never used the term ‘adopted’ but Alec had met at least a dozen Downworlders who came to Magnus like he was their parent. Orphaned warlocks or Sire-less vampires with no one to guide them. There was a werewolf, now in Luke’s pack, who sent Magnus a non-denominational winter-themed card every December full of cramped handwriting and hearts. Even though she didn’t celebrate any holidays, the family-centric festivities in winter still made her think of Magnus.
There was also Clary. Magnus didn’t treat her at all like a client’s child. He indulged her like a favourite niece. And Madzie, who always ran first to Alec and clung to his legs when Catarina gently told her that it was time to leave but conjured Magnus sparkly flower crowns because Magnus was her “favourite princess.” Magnus and children went together like sunshine and flowers. The thought of one day being a part of that made hot molten joy leak out of Alec’s heart.
Alec loved Magnus. It had been a long, treacherous trudge uphill and often under fire to get there. He had worked through two decades of internalized homophobia and institutionalized racism—words he only even knew because of Magnus—and enough personal issues to buy a mundane therapist a beach house. He had stood against his parents, the Clave, and even Downworlders whose horror at the High Warlock of Brooklyn dating a shadowhunter had only rivaled Idris’s horror that a Downworlder was dating a Lightwood. It had been rough. Even if they hadn’t been fighting a war at the same time, it would have been rough.
But they had survived it all. Valentine, his psychotic son, the Owl, Valentine’s psychotic son again, Asmodeus, and Lilith—like defeating the antagonists in Simon’s video games, he and Magnus had surpassed each level. They had survived Edom.
Alec’s ring sat on Magnus’s finger. The Lightwood ring, passed down through his paternal line since the first Lightwood had sipped from the Mortal Cup. They were engaged. Alec had gone to Edom with a wedding to plan and now he and Magnus were back in New York. They were two months away from their painstakingly chosen wedding date. Painstakingly chosen because Magnus had taken to wedding planning like he took to fashion shows.
Alec was happy to do as he was told and offer opinions when asked. He had dutifully tried what seemed like every cake between Manhattan and Brooklyn, only to agree (in a double-blind taste test, of course) with Magnus that the chocolate bourbon ganache from the bakery four blocks from the loft was to die for. They had toured venues extensively and internationally: Indonesia, India, England, and Barbados had all been strong contenders. But when the Clave had offered Alicante—had offered to open Alicante’s borders to Downworlders—as a formal symbol of the changing times, the choice was made. Other details had fallen more easily in line. Their wedding colours became royal blue and gold, and they settled on the pink-tongued orchids Magnus had loved from his childhood for their flowers. They narrowed down the month to August, because that was the month they had met. After a quick council with their friends, they chose the twenty-third because no one had been fighting or dying that day.
Alec didn’t close his eyes. His hands were careful and unceasingly devoted to their task on the table. But, for a moment, he was caught in a memory.
“You know,” Magnus whispered, “it was really unfair of you to propose first.”
“Oh?” Alec said, rolling over in bed to face Magnus properly. “How so?”
“You know I like to spoil you." His lips alighted on Alec’s, teeth nibbling gently. Alec gave himself up easily to being kissed, letting the hot-soft-wet of Magnus’s mouth slide over him. Desire sparked in his belly.
“I would have planned the engagement for the ages,” Magnus mused, filling the space they used to breathe with wild implications. Alec blushed, only too willing to imagine what Magnus had in mind.
They had spoken at length about the near-disastrous way the Lightwood ring had become Magnus’s. They could speak about engagements, now, without hurting. That was why Alec could rear up in Magnus’s arms and press closer, to bite sweetly at the place behind his ear that made Magnus hum. “You have the wedding,” Alec murmured, teasing.
Magnus grinned, joy bright in his eyes. “But I want this, too,” he said. The pop of a ring box snapping open punctuated his sentence. “I want my ring on your finger, too.”
Magnus was love incarnate, and so he was both possessive and performative. Alec didn’t know why he hadn’t seen this coming. He was pleased, in any case. Alec liked to know his place, to be assured that he was where he belonged. He loved belonging to Magnus. He was always going to say yes. But Magnus wasn’t the only person with a sense of humor in their relationship.
“Ask me, then,” Alec ordered, blank-masked. He lounged back against the silk-covered, goose-down pillows. In a bed like this, under the attention of a man like Magnus, it was easy to play at being imperious. “I’ll consider it.”
Magnus hummed. “My cheeky, snarky boy,” he said. His long fingers snapped out, skimming slowly over and then sharply twisting Alec’s nipple. The glamor over his eyes flickered out as Alec gasped, arching up.
Smirking, Magnus pushed Alec onto his back. He batted away the pillows and pinned Alec flat against the sheets. One hand splayed over his throat, big and hot against his skin. Alec’s lashes fluttered. He was greedy to catch every amber glance that Magnus would allow him, but Magnus was ethereal. Overwhelming. Backdropped by the dark ceiling, his body glowed golden. His hair was a shock of dark waves, freed of styling for bed. His features were sharp but his mouth was soft and his glimmering cat’s eyes were lined by nothing but thick black lashes. Alec was won. He fell into the next kiss, a consuming meeting of lips and tongue. Fingers tightened around his wrists, gathered in Magnus’s other hand, forcing them neatly into the sheets. The band of the Lightwood ring bit into Alec’s skin. As the kiss broke, he stifled a groan.
“Stay,” Magnus ordered. His mouth was set just this side of vicious, his lips wet, red, and swollen.
Hard and hopeless, Alec did as he was told.
“You are mine,” Magnus said. He words rang with the edge of a vow. He bent his head and kissed bruises onto Alec's collarbones, his chest, across his stomach and hips, and into his most intimate places. “Forever, for none other.” Merciless. Devoted. The warm tingle of Magnus’s magic made him wet, prepared for one long finger to claim him, and then another, rapid fire.
“Please,” Alec breathed, struggling for words. The whining, panting, moaning noises Magnus had drawn from his lips had done nothing to help him so far. “Please, Magnus, please.” His eyes screwed shut. He choked out his pleasure as Magnus brushed his most sensitive spot, three fingers buried deep inside him. He jerked, his leaking cock bouncing against his stomach, and pushed his hips down on Magnus’s fingers. He was desperate for any kind of increase of touch. He didn’t dare move his wrists, however, bound now by naught but Magnus’s word. With Alec, Magnus had never needed anything but words.
Magnus hushed him, fingers leaving his hole. Alec groaned miserably. Magnus’s lips found his wrists, brushing hot kisses over the fragile skin there, and then over each of Alec’s scrunched eyelids. He ended his travels on Alec’s quivering mouth. Alec gasped shakily into the kiss, moaning when Magnus dragged against his tongue and took greedily what Alec offered. He was dying to continue, to taste more of Magnus, but Magnus pulled away. His wrists set to their station, Alec could do nothing but wrench against his invisible bonds. He was held by his own devotion to Magnus’s command. Need burned white hot in his gut, muscles aching as he fought not to come, to follow Magnus’s implicit orders, to be good.
“Easy, my love,” Magnus soothed. His clean fingers carded through Alec’s hair, pausing just to wipe away an embarrassing tear that had been making its way down Alec’s face. He breathed, relaxing incrementally back against the bed. Dizzying warmth was slipping into his muscles. He felt like he might melt, or else float away on the next stray breeze.
“No more words, now,” Magnus said, drawing back Alec’s attention. His mouth snapped shut, eager for the pleased hum that Magnus gave him. “Eyes open.” He sobbed, struggling to obey. Magnus’s other fingers had slipped back into his hole, striking with stunning accuracy. Another tear slipped past him. This time, Magnus just cooed as it rolled into Alec’s sweat-darkened hair.
When Alec was watching him again, Magnus kissed his throat in reward. Alec could feel his grin against his spasming skin. He whined, to no avail. Magnus’s fingers twisted and thrust, driving Alec to the brink. He abandoned Alec’s hair to lovingly stroke his belly, nails dragging down Alec’s treasure trail but just missing his straining cock. More tears leaked down his face. Magnus bent closer to interrupt their path with wet kisses. “Such a good boy for me,” Magnus purred. “Are you ready, love?” His cock so hard that Alec wasn’t sure that he had blood left anywhere else in his body, he nodded jerkily. He fought against the tears to keep his eyes on Magnus.
Sweat beaded Magnus’s brow, his own desire tightly held but straining. He grinned, sharp and wild, and pulled his fingers out only long enough to replace them with his cock. Alec heaved, gut-punched by pleasure, falling back against the bed only after a full five seconds where his heart stuttered in his chest. A moan fell out of his mouth, lengthened by the shudder that rolled over his skin when Magnus’s hips twisted. Magnus’s breathless laugh sank into his skin like sunlight.
Alec dragged his eyes open again. He was barely aware that he’d closed them, lost in sensation. He fixed his gaze on Magnus’s chest as he tugged his wrists pointedly.
Magnus laughed, joyful. “Yes, okay, darling. Gods, you’re so good for me. Touch me.”
Alec never needed to be told twice. Core contracting, he reached up and buried his hands in Magnus’s hair. It was so soft against his palms when freed from products that he could never resist. He claimed that mouth next—hands sliding down to grip Magnus’s shoulders, to map his chest—and plundered freely, savoring the lingering berry taste of Magnus’s toothpaste (“Mint is unimaginative, Alexander”). He smothered their moans in that kiss, only giving up when Magnus cradled the back of his head and dropped them both back down. Magnus propped himself on one elbow so his other hand could wrap around Alec’s cock. Slicked with precum, he gripped and twisted. Alec bit off a swear and Magnus, damn him, did it again. Alec glared, struggling for control.
Magnus grinned. “Words,” he demanded, breath ghosting sweet and hot over Alec’s ear. “Now, love. Tell me what you want with words.”
“I want you to fuck me harder, and keep touching me, and don’t stop. Magnus, please, you sadist, please—” Speaking his desires in bed had once been a problem for Alec. Magnus had broken him of it. Now, Alec didn’t have thoughts. The words just streamed out, a river with a demolished dam.
“Whatever you want, whatever you wish,” Magnus breathed, labored and blown-eyed. His hips crashed into Alec, held from savagery by a scant inch of mindfulness. Pleasure built up and crested but never toppled over. Alec was drowning in it. He clung to Magnus and tried to breathe. When he thought he couldn’t stand another moment of brutal pleasure, Alec took Magnus’s words as gospel and clenched hard around the solid heat battering his core.
“Christ,” Magnus snared, hips stuttering, his control shaken.
Alex grinned. “Now who’s blaspheming in bed?—Fuck!”
“Serves you right, wicked creature,” Magnus smirked. He thrust up, swiveled, and Alec cried out again.
“Magnus, Magnus, please, I’m sorry, please,” Alec mumbled, increasingly desperate and repentant. Magnus kissed him, long and adoring, even as Alec sunk his nails into his shoulders and raked down.
Magnus gasped into his mouth. He pulled away and sighed against Alec’s lips. “That’s it, darling. My lovely little warrior. You’ve been so good, I know. Come for me, now, dear, come on.”
And Alec, as always, did as he was told. Sobbing, shaking, shattering apart, he came in a burst that robbed him of air and sight. He was swallowed by the light of it and left insensate. Only vaguely was he aware of the wet warmth filling him up. He was more aware of Magnus collapsing on top of him, loose-limbed and beautiful. He crossed his arms over Magnus’s back, breathing in his sandalwood scent from the crook of his neck while pleasure consumed him.
“Yes, by the way,” Alec said, some indeterminable minutes later. The world spun slowly around him.
Magnus pushed up, immediately aware, and locked their eyes together. He blushed, a beautiful and uncharacteristic glow. “I didn’t even really ask properly. You’re distracting.”
“You never had to ask,” Alec replied softly, awed by this new bashfulness that he had never seen before. “I’ve always been yours. I would be honoured to wear your ring. I love you.”
Magnus’s eyes glimmered. “I love you, too, Alexander.”
He'd fallen asleep held by Magnus, a new cool weight warming quickly around his finger.
Now, Alec had devested himself of that ring. He hadn’t wanted to bring it into this room where the ugly things waited. A tiger’s eye stone on a band of gold. Too beautiful, like Magnus, for this side of Alec. For Alec at all, really. It sat, safe, on his dresser in the Institute.
His clothes were there, too. His ratty, comfortable sweater, dark jeans, and familiar boots. The clothes he wore now were from the black leather duffle that lived unassumingly in his weapon’s locker in the armoury. Tailored trousers, dress shoes with echoing steps, and a white dress shirt, the sleeves rolled to his elbow. A dark suit vest. The jacket was thrown over the chair, where he’d exchanged it for the waiting clear plastic apron and latex gloves. The duffle sat on the unoccupied table. Alec had neatly divulged its contents an item at a time, aware of the stammered breaths the other man in the room had taken but showing no outward attention.
Now, much of the gleaming hardware was bloody. They hadn’t been in a long time, not since Alec had graduated the program. His mother had been a hardliner against Downworlders and otherwise rebellious elements. Anyone who had crossed her Institute had been eliminated with all the lethal prejudice of her Circle-member roots. Maryse Lightwood took no prisoners. Alec’s special skills—learned in special classes at the Academy, invitation-only, never turned down—had become dusty.
Sometimes, Alec thought that her refusal to use him was the kindest thing his mother had ever done for him.
Aldertree had been happy to mutilate anyone necessary, comparatively. An ideal operative but always so clumsy. He had taken Alec’s Institute, manipulated and abused his sister, and tormented the Downworld Alec had been so carefully fostering relations with. In the Academy, they were taught not to interfere with each other. Was terrorizing Alec’s Parabatai and chasing him from Alec’s Institute non-interference? Alec thought not. The only smart move he’d made was not trying to coerce Alec into working for him.
He had no regrets about using Raphael to have Aldertree sent back to Idris. Alec's people were loyal. They knew when to keep the security cameras running. When that footage had trickled to the Clave, Aldertree had sunk. The Clave only supported their handlers when they didn’t make evidence that could destroy the Accords. The resultant scandal had helped Alec burry Izzy’s yin fen addiction. Hiding that mess was the most decent thing Aldertree could have done, Alec figured—even if he hadn’t had a choice.
Alec hummed and set the knife down. “Are you ready to tell me the address, now?” His tone was purposefully conversational. Light. None of his seething rage or bone-deep terror leaked through, despite the hours the emotions had been given to build.
The memory opened in Alec’s mind like a terrible flower.
Magnus had been late for a noon coffee date with Catarina. When she’d called, he hadn’t picked up. That happened about as often as Hailey’s Comet. So, Catarina had checked the loft. Nothing. Then, she’d called Alec. A few words into assuring her that Magnus was fine— “You and Magnus tease me all the time about how he could squash my best Shadowhunters like bugs” —Underhill had stormed into Alec’s office.
Underhill was Alec’s favourite man on his payroll because he didn’t screw around. “Sit down. You need to see this. It’s Magnus.”
Dread bloomed in his gut. Alec had blankly taken the offered digital pad from Underhill, sat down at his desk, and watched his worst nightmare play out on the screen. Magnus, bound. Magnus, screaming. Magnus, dressed in nothing but his blood.
“Alec,” Catarina snapped, still on the line with him through his earpiece. “What’s going on? Talk to me!”
“Find a ‘sitter for Madzie and come to the Institute. I’ll have an escort meet you at the door." Not sparing another second, Alec ended the call.
Standing, he turned to Underhill. His Head of Security stood at perfect attention, empty-faced. “Report,” Alec demanded.
The details were scant. Hours and hours later, they still were. At 13:09, the cyber security division had flagged an attempt to breach the firewall on Alec’s work computer. At 13:11, Underhill had opened the isolated malware on a secure server. At 13:14, Underhill had gone to Alec. By 14:00, Alec had briefed his siblings and Catarina, tried and failed to track Magnus with Jace while Catarina tried and failed to track Magnus with magic, and sent his siblings to scour for leads. He had asked Catarina to handle the warlocks and had Underhill log into the CCTV to hunt for Magnus the mundane way. Then, he had set the Institute on red alert. All available units had gathered in Ops, where Alec had passed down their new orders: find and recover Magnus Bane.
After this nightmare ended, Alec would have to reward his soldiers appropriately. Not one had hesitated. When Catarina had returned two hours and thirty-seven minutes later, reporting that the warlocks were a dead-end but would be on their best behavior until their High Warlock returned, she had stepped into a fully mobilized Institute.
“I know Magnus is important to you, but I never thought I’d see the day that an Institute worked like this to find a warlock. Even a High Warlock,” Catarina said, staring at Alec’s people as they flung themselves into their mission.
“Magnus is the fiancé of their Institute Head,” Alec replied. “Some may not like it, some may not agree with it, but he is my choice. They won’t fail to bring him home.”
Not if they know what’s good for them, Alec left unsaid. Some may not like that Alec loved a Downworlder, but none of them wanted to work under a widower. Nephilim loved once, and fiercely, and they grieved much worse than they loved.
The man under Alec’s hands, Edward Ross, screamed through his gag. While Alec’s mind had been consumed with rehashing the last twenty-two hours, his hands had been so carefully trimming the skin off Ross’s chest. It was just a medium-sized patch on his right pectoral; Alec hadn’t even touched the nipple. Still, Ross screamed like Alec was carving his heart out. Alec tsked absently. Screamers were always such a headache. Annoyed, he ripped the severed piece of skin off with a flick of his wrist. His Strength rune made every maneuver so easy. The skin landed with a wet smack on the cement. Ross’s garbled screaming covered the sound almost entirely.
“You know, you were so brave when we brought you in,” Alec said. He kept his tone idle. A subject could never think that their handler didn’t have all the time in the world to spend with them. “I know my soldiers weren’t very gentle with you, but you kept a brave face. You were stoic, laconic. Arrogant, even. Remember?”
Ross whimpered. Alec dragged one gloved finger firmly over his newly peeled chest, watching as the vampire writhed against his bonds. He didn’t need to breath, and he was terrified enough now that the mental conditioning from his human life didn’t matter. He screamed until it hurt too much to continue. Alec waited for silence.
“You didn’t think I could hurt you, did you?” Alec mused. “I’m the gay, Downworlder-loving Shadowhunter. I surely wouldn’t have a blacksite in my Institute. I wouldn’t know how to use one.”
While he talked, Alec rested the blade again on Ross’s skinned pectoral. He should probably change out for a smaller knife—the lines might be a bit wonky if he didn't—but he liked the weight of this one in his hand. Using just the tip, he began to trace a familiar image on the raw, bleeding flesh. If he needed to, he would go back later and really gouge the lines in. His paring knife would work well. It was small, sharp, and keen. He could cut the lines so deep that even a vampire’s healing would leave Ross with perfectly discernible scars. If Alec decided that he should live, that is.
The vampire was sobbing, fat, bloody tears rolling down his cheeks. He could squirm, but he couldn’t really pull against his bonds. Before even speaking, Alec had broken his knees and elbows with sharp strikes from the pommel of his Seraph blade. He had wanted to set the tone. There would be no negotiating. There would be no trial. Alec wasn’t there as an envoy of the Clave and Ross wasn’t a suspect. Ross was a subject and Alec was schooled in torture. Between them, there was only pain.
After he finished his design—the Lightwood crest was actually quite simple—Alec gently wiped the bloody tears off Ross’s face. With careful fingers, he removed his gag. The vampire heaved, his human mindset returning a little with the pause in pain, and then immediately stilled as the movement wrenched his broken ribs and cut-up chest.
Alec smiled at him. “Are you ready to talk?”
Ross sighed gustily. He wouldn’t meet Alec’s eyes. “He’ll die before you find him,” he said. “You should be out looking for him, not— not—”
“Hurting you?” Alec filled in. While Ross tried to wriggle under his skin with more useless words, Alec busied himself attaching a blood bag to the IV stand set up at the head of the table. He adjusted the needle and poked it neatly into Ross’s arm. When he turned his attention back to Ross, confusion had filled the vampire’s eyes.
“What are you—? Rahh!” Ross’s sentence broke off in screams. His whole body jerked up on the table, every muscle contracted. It was like he’d been struck by lightning. Alec let him burn for a while, then stopped the flow.
Gently, Alec rolled Ross’s head so that they were facing each other. He crouched, leaving them nose to nose. It took a few minutes, but Ross finally opened his eyes. They were red with broken blood vessels.
“I don’t need to look for him,” Alec said, firm but soft. It was the tone he used when soothing flighty new recruits. “I have an Institute. Right now, every soldier under my command is turning this city upside down. They will find Magnus, just like they found you. But you’re right,” Alec acknowledged. “My fiancé could be dead when they find him. In that case, I won’t kill you.”
“What?” Ross said, his voice rough from screaming. He was so confused. Alec almost felt pity. But still water, mirrors, they don’t feel anything.
“What you felt in your veins just now? That was human blood laced with holy water.” Fresh horror dawned in the vampire’s eyes. Alec smiled again. “I think you’ve guessed where I’m going. It’ll keep you alive indefinitely, but it hurts like hell. Doesn't it?”
“Please,” Ross said—well, whined. “Please, please. Just kill me. Please. I can’t do that again, I can’t—I’ll go insane.”
“That’s appropriate,” Alec cut in. “Because if Magnus dies, if all my people find is his corpse, I’ll go insane. And all that will sooth me is the screams of the monster that took him from me.” Absently, Alec clawed his hand through the blood still pouring down Ross’s chest. Ross’s screams bloomed afresh. “Just think,” Alec snarled, “I might live another sixty or seventy years. I could spend all of those years with my fiancé or I could spend them with you.” Alec held up his hand and let Ross watch his blood leak down the glove, made him truly see the play of the colour under the industrial lighting. “What do you think?”
In a mad babble, Ross spit out everything he knew about Magnus Bane.
“Do you care, particularly, what happens to Ross?” Alec asked Raphael Santiago as he washed his hands. There wasn’t a speck of blood on Alec but he still wanted to scrub off his skin in the shower. Not that Alec would ever waste the minutes. Jace was already preparing an extraction team. By the time everyone was geared up, Alec would be ready to lead it.
He had abandoned the vampire the instant Ross ran out of things to say. Before Alec had stripped even his apron off, Underhill had radioed to say that Ops had verified the address. He would clean up the mess he’d made later. Yet, he didn’t want to step on Raphael’s toes. So, he was asking permission before he needed to seek forgiveness. Look, Clave, Alec thought wryly, diplomacy!
Raphael stared at him, blank-faced. Alec gave him a moment and dried his hands. He and Luke had both watched Alec work through the two-way glass at the front of the room. They had been informed of every step of his plan, from capture to Ross’s subsequent handling. Raphael had even been the one to awkwardly bring up the torture idea—
“The last bastard with your job did a number on me,” Raphael said, staring at Ross as Alec’s soldiers dragged him to the holding cells. “Do you have someone who can make this one talk?”
“I’ll handle it,” Alec replied. He could already feel the mentality coming over him, trickling in through his cracked heart. His veins felt icy.
“Alec,” Luke started, fatherly and delicate like no one else ever was with Alec. “A few punches won’t do it. I don’t think you have anyone on staff with the training.”
“Not on the staff, no,” Alec agreed. Not when Alec was already in residence.
Luke was quick. His jaw fell open for a second but then he straightened up. “I can't believe Maryse consented to that.”
Alec shrugged. “There was never a lot of consent involved.” He left to retrieve his bag. When he entered the room with the strapped-down vampire, he knew the two Downworlder leaders were watching him.
“What would you do with him?” Raphael asked, now. Alec finished his ministrations by tying his boots and straightened. He thought for a moment.
“The Accords stipulate that Shadowhunters have the right to seek immediate and lethal retribution for innocent blood spilled by rouge elements,” Alec said. He looked Raphael over. He was confident that Raphael would give him what he wanted. “So, Raphael, what do you consider the vampire who drugged, kidnapped, and sold Magnus Bane to the highest bidder?”
Magnus could only wax proudly on about someone’s fashion sense for so long before Alec’s lightbulb went off. He hadn’t meant to let it slip to Alec, but Alec knew that the indomitable New York clan leader Raphael Santiago was one of Magnus’s foundlings. So, as Alec expected, “He is no clansman of New York nor any other clan than I know of,” Raphael replied. His face could have been carved of marble for all the warmth to be found there.
Alec smiled. “In that case, the sun rises in an hour. Magnus will hopefully be back by then. Even better, he will be well enough to remind me why I should be merciful.”
“You would think that the children of Angels would be, anyway,” Raphael said, watching Alec with dark, considering eyes.
Alec stilled. So fresh from the room, he still felt half-frozen. “Anyone who thinks that hasn’t been paying attention.”