Cast Your Seasons—Enemies to Lovers—Trope Bingo 2020-2021

Ice

All Alec’s life, the Clave and Idris had been in a state of Cold War against the downworld.

The downworld, pushed past breaking point by the atrocities committed by Valentine and all too aware that the Clave wasn’t going to do more than give lip service to his condemnation, united under the warlocks and went on the offensive.

Only the seelie abstained from taking part. The seelie queen closed the borders of the seelie realm, choosing to wait out the hostilities rather than choose a side.

Magnus Bane, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, personally led the assault force that cornered Valentine in his home. Rather than surrender, Valentine killed his wife and son before setting off an adamas bomb that destroyed his house rained toxic fire down on those outside.

Many downworlders died, and Magnus Bane was permanently scarred.

With Valentine’s death, the Circle fell. The downworld retreated, leaving the Clave to mop up the mess their rogue had created. The war was ostensibly over, but the balance of the shadow world had been irreversibly altered.

The Clave’s overwhelming failure to uphold the Covenant proved to be the downfall of the Accords. For the first time in history, the downworld had discovered the strength of unity. They knew that together they were more than a match for the Clave and refused to agree to terms as openly discriminatory as the Accords. They wanted equality.

The Clave had refused to give up their ascendency, and so a state of cold war had prevailed.

All direct communication between the two factions ceased, with only the seelie to act as neutral go-betweens. The seelies’ inability to lie was a boon for such undertakings.

The Clave had soon discovered how much harder it was to fulfil their sacred duty without the aid of the downworld. The lack of warlock help was particularly felt; standing portals could still be used, but soon the wards keeping Institutes hidden from mundanes and safe from demons began to fail for lack of maintenance.

Thankfully, angelic runes could be used to hide buildings. Unfortunately, that was all they could do. Institutes were now vulnerable to attack. It was no longer safe for shadowhunter families to raise their children outside Idris.

Without warlock healing, many shadowhunters died from injuries that they might have healed from. The Silent Brothers did their best, but their numbers were few.

The Clave began discussions about using the Mortal Cup to recruit more shadowhunters. They were immediately informed that the downworld would view such an action as preparation for hostilities and would likewise begin increasing their own numbers.

As nephilim numbers continued their decline, and with no other remedy in sight, the Clave finally began to consider a more equal treaty with the downworld.

Discussions had just been opened—with the seelies acting as couriers and moderators—when Lilith’s agents opened a rift outside Idris. Lilith stood at the head of an army of asmodei and openly stated her goal. Complete destruction of the shadow world in revenge for the loss of ‘her son.’

Then she attacked.

Whether by accident or intent, Lilith caught the shadow world at the weakest it had ever been.

Shadowhunter numbers were already depleted from twenty years without downworld support. In desperation, the Clave put aside their pride and reached out to the downworld. Unfortunately, the Clave’s long stance of isolationism came back to bite them.

Aside from Magnus Bane and some of his friends, the downworld declined to get involved.

In defiance of the official downworld policy, Bane himself stood on the front lines with the shadowhunters. At the same time, his friends’ Catarina Loss, Ragnor Fell, and Tessa Gray; took over the New York Institute’s infirmary and worked with the wounded, healing the worst wounds and purging demon venom.

It soon became apparent that Lilith’s forces had a terrible advantage.

Unlike the shadow world, her army was limitless. Each demon the allied forces killed reformed in Edom and began making its way back to Lilith’s side.

Facing annihilation, the Clave decided that the time had come to use the wish Raziel had promised them. It was not universally accepted.

“Lilith is fearsome,” argued one Council member, “but she is only one of the Greater Demons. What if we use up the wish, and then the other Greater Demons unite to attack us? We’ll have used up our trump card!”

“Supposition,” declared another. “Imagined terror. What point is there in holding back our strength if the only result is our death?”

“Whatever our choice, we must decide quickly! All we do with this incessant disagreement is waste precious time. Our people are dying far faster than we can replace them, even with the Mortal Cup.”

Imogen Herondale, Inquisitor, rose to her feet. “Enough. We will take a vote, requiring a simple majority for success. Those in favour of using the wish, raise your hand.”

Fifty-four per cent voted to use the wish.

Imogen remained standing. “We must now decide on the wording of our wish. What can we ask for that will not only grant us victory in this war but will remain useful in wars to come?”

The following debate took twice as long as the one preceding it.

Eventually, the Clave Council came to an agreement.

Every top-tier shadowhunter with a leadership history of five years or more and under thirty years of age was summoned to Lake Lynn at sundown the following day. It would mean removing some of the most effective fighters from the battlefield, but hopefully not for long.

Sundown always saw a lull in the fighting. Lilith—who was being kept at bay almost solely by the power of Magnus Bane—would depart from the battlefield. Two hours later, she would return, reinvigorated. Asnodei continued to fight, but they were slower and less driven without their queen’s presence.

Alec Lightwood and his younger sister Isabelle were among those gathered. As two of the best shadowhunters of their generation—bested only by Jace Herondale, the Inquisitor’s grandson—they’d been leading patrols since they were sixteen.

Alec, at twenty-five, had been trained for diplomacy as well as the battlefield. He was an accomplished and thorough leader who already had a reputation for getting the best out of the warriors he fought with. He topped the rankings for highest success to casualty ratio for those with more than a year of field experience and had held that place for the last three years.

Isabelle, at twenty-two, was also an accomplished fighter and patrol leader. Off the battlefield, she split her focus between science and metallurgy, quickly gaining a reputation for excellence in both fields.

Jace Herondale, twenty-two, was also there. He was the last Herondale, the only child of Imogen Herondale’s son Stephen. At his birth, he’d been stolen from his dead mother’s womb by Valentine and taken to a remote location. No one knew whether Valentine intended to experiment on him, kill him, or raise him. No one even knew he was alive until the day after Valentine’s death.

Tessa Gray, a warlock, had found Jace in an isolated farmhouse and turned him over to the Silent Brothers. A series of tests had identified him as the son of Stephen and Celene Herondale, and Imogen Herondale had claimed her grandson then arranged to foster him with Jia Penhallow, who was raising a daughter around the same age.

Jace was the stand-out shadowhunter of their generation. His impressive skill with weapons was augmented by his almost instinctive use of runes, and his thorough knowledge of demonic races made finding their weak spots almost easy.

Unlike many shadowhunters, Jace chose not to pursue a secondary focus. He was born to fight and slay demons, and that was the only goal that drove him. When he wasn’t fighting, he was either training or researching. He related well to the highest-ranked shadowhunters in his age group, regularly training with the Lightwoods.

Jace made his way over to them, heterochromatic eyes alight with excitement. “I overheard grandmother talking to Jia. The Clave finally agreed to use the wish. They’re setting up now.”

That was welcome news. It didn’t take a brilliant tactician to know that Lilith and her army were too much for them. In the week since the fighting began, Alec had lost nearly half of the shadowhunters assigned to his unit. He was tired of losing men and women to an enemy that couldn’t be defeated. Shadowhunters were trained almost from birth to lay down their lives, but not as useless cannon fodder.

“But why assemble us here?” asked Izzy. “Most ceremonies are held in Alicante.”

“Who cares?” asked Jace. “We’re going to be the first nephilim to set eyes on Raziel since Jonathon Shadowhunter!”

Alec rolled his eyes but nodded in agreement. “There must be at least three hundred of us.”

Imogen stepped into the lake, bending to gently lower the Mortal Cup and the Mortal Sword so that they were fully submerged. When she straightened up again, her hands were empty. “Raziel!” she called, voice ringing out over the water. “Hear me! I call upon the Mortal Instruments and summon you into this mortal realm!”

Thunder cracked around them, and an angelic form rose from the water to hover above it.

Raziel was awe-inspiring. The power that radiated from him was intense and overwhelming, and his gaze held the weight of the ages. His aura was like a physical touch, and Alec felt stripped bare and revealed in its light.

When he spoke, Raziel’s voice rattled Alec’s bones. “It has been a thousand years since I was last summoned to this place. Why do you summon me now, nephilim?”

Imogen stood firm, her already diminutive form almost comically tiny against the majesty of the angel. “My Lord Raziel, we come before you in our hour of need. Lilith has amassed a great army and even now threatens this world. Without your aid, she will surely defeat us and go on to wipe humanity from this earth.”

“Such a thing should not be possible. The compact that binds the Greater Demons and the Angels from inhabiting this earth should prevent her continued presence. I will ascertain the truth of the situation.”

Raziel closed his eyes. There was a brief swell of sound, like a song sung from a million throats. The song lasted less than a second, but it was still the most beautiful song Alec had ever heard.

Raziel opened his eyes. “Lilith acts in vengeance against the death of a child of her blood. He was created with her permission by Valentine Morgenstern, then murdered by the same man. Her retaliation against those who hold his blood does not breach the compact. I may not act directly against her.”

If not for the angel’s presence, Alec would have cursed out loud. Fucking Valentine. Dead for two decades and still managing to fuck them over dry.

Going by the expression on her face, Imogen was of the same mind. “My Lord, we do not ask for your direct intervention in this fight. We have brought the best of our young warriors before you in the hope that you will choose a fitting champion from amongst them. We ask that you imbue this champion with the power to defeat any Greater Demons who might attack these holy lands. A champion not just for today, but for the future.”

Raziel glowed brighter. “You know what you must do.” The vibrations of his voice intensified, as did his aura. “Thou who spills thy blood, thou shalt compel from me an action.” The glow remained steady as the vibrations eased back. “Be wise in your wording. I will grant but one.”

Imogen drew a dagger and slashed open her hand, letting her blood fall into the lake. “I wish that you appoint a champion from amongst those gathered; create a warrior great enough to defeat even the greatest of our foes,” she declared. “A champion for all time; a champion of the just.”

Raziel’s glow intensified to the point that Alec could barely see his outline. “True-blooded, thou art a true son of thy line. Rise then, to the fullness of thy blood. Those in witness, know this; never again shall one of thy brethren be risen thus.”

The light faded, and Raziel was gone.

Alec looked at Jace, the most skilled warrior they had. Surely it would be Jace.

He was surprised to find that everyone was looking at him.

Izzy nudged him with an elbow. “Alec, you’re glowing.”

Fire

Magnus was nearing the end of his tether.

Dealing with the Spiral Council was always tedious. Getting a group of warlocks to agree to anything was always complicated; convincing them to rally the downworld against the nephilim had involved months of deliberations and careful negotiations.

On the whole, warlocks as a species were indifferent to any upheaval that didn’t affect them personally. Centuries of existence tended to inure a being against the desperate concerns of those with shorter lives. Regimes rose and fell, tyrants emerged and were overthrown, people lived and died. So long as whoever was in charge left them alone, most warlocks weren’t interested in getting involved.

The only thing warlocks tended bestir themselves for was to ensure that other warlocks’ antics didn’t imperil their peaceful existence.

It had taken incontrovertible proof that Valentine was targeting warlocks of all ages—was deliberately seeking them out to torture and kill them—before the Spiral Council granted Magnus Bane the authority to act.

Since the Clave showed no signs that they intended to offer anything other than lip service in condemnation of their extremist members, the downworld was going to have to take definitive action if it wanted to survive.

Valentine’s final act of defiance was horrific on several levels. While going out in a blaze wasn’t an unexpected action, the depravity of killing his own wife and child with his own hands first wasn’t something Magnus had anticipated.

The burn scars Magnus got from the adamas vaporised in the explosion that destroyed Fairchild Manor would never heal. Magnus had the capability of glamouring them but chose not to. Instead, he wore the scars openly. They were both a reminder of his failures and successes and a tribute to those who died for one man’s madness.

They were also a visible reminder of the Clave’s hypocrisy. Magnus refused to consider the war over until an agreement could be reached whereby the downworld was no longer under the subjugation of the nephilim. If the downworld squandered this opportunity to sue for equality, it might be centuries, even aeons before the chance might arise again.

Under Magnus’ direction, backed up by the decree of support from the Spiral Council, the downworld refused to back down. Shadowhunters were not attacked, but downworlders no longer accepted nephilim authority.

It also meant that downworlders had to step up and police their own communities better. Keeping the shadow world hidden from the mundanes was still a high priority.

Aside from odd skirmishes here and there—usually occurring when the young of both sides met unexpectedly—the separation had been maintained for nearly two decades. The Clave was slowly capitulating, and Magnus was starting to think that he might be able to give up this whole business and relax for a century or so when Lilith began her attack on Idris.

Magnus wasn’t stupid enough to think that Lilith would restrain herself to only wiping out the nephilim. Besides, he didn’t want the nephilim wiped out. The shadowhunters performed a vital service; without them to slay the increasing numbers of demons in the world, the shadow world would soon be exposed.

As the downworld had rallied against the shadowhunters, now the entire shadow world needed to rally against Lilith. The sooner, the better.

Unfortunately, getting everyone else to recognise that necessity was difficult, and Magnus had less time than when Valentine was running around torturing and murdering.

The Spiral Council—removed from the world as they were—focused more on Magnus’ ‘grab for power’ than ‘the unlikely scenario of Lilith posing a threat.’ The Praetor Lupus maintained that this wasn’t their fight, that it was what the shadowhunters had been made for.

Magnus turned to the recent alliance of vampires and werewolves that had stood with him against the Clave, hoping they would see the necessity of action.

Naturally, this was when the leadership councils he’d been trying to cultivate within the vampires and the werewolves decided to assert their independence. They reminded him that they were his allies, not his personal attack force.

Magnus was left to stand with the shadowhunters on his own. His friends, Catarina, Ragnor, and Tessa, weren’t natural fighters but agreed to act as support. They refused to enter Idris—Magnus didn’t blame them—but offered to work out of the New York Institute. Since the injured were being transferred by portal, it didn’t really matter where the healing occurred.

So, Magnus fought. Not just with battle magic, but with the blades he’d once wielded at his father’s side. This fight was one he could put his heart and soul into, every part of his being relished in the carnage.

Magnus knew that he made the shadowhunters around him uncomfortable, that he was giving away secrets about his own power he’d managed to keep from them for centuries. But holding back was pointless.

Even with everything Magnus had in his arsenal, all the tricks and twists he’d learned over four centuries of life, he was only fighting a delaying action. While Lilith remained to hold the rift open, her army would just keep coming. Each demon’s reanimation took power, but while Edom’s stores could not hold out forever, they would last long enough.

Magnus’ only hope was that his eventual death would spur the downworld into finally taking action.

Not that he intended to go down quickly.

No.

His name was Great Destruction and, as Asmodeus’ acknowledged son, he took power from each of the asmodei he slew. As a denizen of two realms, he could use the power he gained from them to fight Lilith to a standstill, preventing her from spending her power directly against the shadowhunters.

It wasn’t going to be enough. Magnus knew it. His energy reserves weren’t unlimited, and he would fall. It was only a matter of time. The only reason he was still standing a week later was that Lilith apparently needed to take rest breaks too.

Although Magnus had been fighting with the shadowhunters, he wouldn’t exactly call them friends. During Lilith’s downtime, Magnus retreated into Idris rather than waste the energy required to portal back home. There, he slept in a tiny tent that had been set aside for him. He had to force it; falling asleep among shadowhunters made his skin crawl, and there was no point setting wards.

After a week of solid fighting, Magnus was beyond exhausted. His head throbbed; lack of hydration coupled with overstressed magical channels taking its toll. Not tired enough that he didn’t notice the strange removal of the best young shadowhunters all at once, but definitely enough that he didn’t bother investigating why.

Besides, he was more concerned with the discovery that his father was in his tent, lounging on an ostentatious throne-like chair, waiting for him.

Magnus blinked, wondering if his overtaxed magic was causing hallucinations. “Who the hell are you?”

Asmodeus raised an eyebrow. “Come now, my boy, it hasn’t been that long.”

“We’ve been fighting for a week to keep Lilith and her army out of Idris,” Magnus pointed out. “I find it hard to believe that you can just waltz in whenever you feel like it.”

“It’s all about intent. Since I intend no harm to those within these barriers, I may come and go as I please.”

Magnus’ headache was growing steadily worse. “I don’t have the energy to argue with you right now. Please leave so that I can get some sleep.”

“I didn’t come all this way just to show you I could. I came to help.”

“Help?” Magnus didn’t bother to hide his disbelief. “If you want to help, then do something about Lilith.”

“I cannot,” said Asmodeus. At Magnus’ rolled eyes, his voice sharpened. “By the terms of the compact, Lilith is within her rights. She avenges blood spilt in treachery, an innocent slain. I have no such excuse.”

“Then how could you possibly help?”

“I cannot act against her directly,” replied Asmodeus. “But I can give you the power necessary to defeat her.”

Magnus stared at him. “What would this power cost?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me!” snarled Magnus, toweringly angry that his father would dangle hope in front of him like this and then try to disguise his purpose. “You do nothing without benefit to yourself! You care less than nothing for this world and for the lives that would be lost to Lilith’s rampage!”

Asmodeus’ eyes narrowed. “If Lilith succeeds here, she will become powerful enough to challenge and defeat any of the Greater Demons. The balance of power, a balance that has been held for aeons, will be disrupted. Her next move would be to consolidate her hold on Edom. I hope I don’t have to spell out what that would mean for me?”

That sounded more like the Asmodeus that Magnus knew.

“It’s self-preservation, then.”

“Primarily,” admitted Asmodeus. “There is also the matter that her attack on this realm endangers you. You are my son, and I refuse to allow her the satisfaction of taking your life.”

Magnus decided to ignore the implication of possession; it was a battle to be fought another day. “Fine. What does this power involve? I’ve already told you that I won’t join you in Edom.”

Asmodeus rose to his feet, stepping into Magnus’ personal space. “I will unlock the power that has slept in your blood, the true final form that all nephilim have within them.”

“And this will give me the ability to defeat Lilith.”

“It will.”

The constant pounding of his headache was making it hard to think. “What happens when Lilith is gone? Will you take this power back?”

Asmodeus stepped back, inspecting his fingernails with pretend interest. “No. Once the power is yours, none may take it from you.”

Magnus knew he was probably missing something important, but he wasn’t in any shape to play the word games that Asmodeus delighted in. This whole thing sounded like a recipe for disaster, but was it worse than what they were currently facing?

Magnus was already nearing the end of his strength. If he didn’t take this chance, it might very well be the end of everything—and everyone—he loved. “Fine.”

He ignored the little voice inside his head reminding him of that saying about the road to hell. That voice sounded like Ragnor, and Ragnor was overly cautious.

Asmodeus met his gaze, his demonic eyes lit by flame. “Then I raise you to your true form, my son. May you rain hellfire upon your enemies.”

Everything went dark.

v^v^v^v

Magnus woke when the horn, sounding ten minutes until Lilith’s return, rang out. He was alone in his tent, laid out on his bed as if he’d gone to sleep as usual. There was no sign Asmodeus had ever been there.

On the positive side, his headache was gone, and he felt completely refreshed.

Engage

Despite the glowing—which had faded so that it was almost unnoticeable—Alec didn’t feel much different. He’d been poked and prodded by the Clave Council and scanned by the Silent Brothers, but no one could detect anything unusual.

Eventually, Alec put a stop to it. “I’m due to return to my unit in twenty minutes,” he pointed out. “This isn’t achieving anything and diverting attention from the matter at hand.”

“You’re our champion against Lilith,” said Imogen Herondale, glaring at him. “You will do as we say. Your unit will be fine without you.”

Alec raised his eyebrows. Suddenly, the idea that this bureaucrat thought she could tell him what do seemed laughable. “I’m Raziel’s champion, not yours.” She did have a point about Lilith, though. “If Jace will take command of my unit, I’ll position myself to engage Lilith directly.”

If looks could kill, Alec would have expired on the spot.

The Inquisitor drew herself up to her full height. Since Alec was over a foot taller than her, it made no impression on him. Imogen appeared to realise that, and it only made her angrier. “You don’t give the orders around here, Lightwood; my grandson is not under your command! You can—”

Jace interrupted her. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “Alec’s right. And if knowing his unit has proper leadership allows him to fight without distraction, then we should see to it.” He gave Alec a tight smile. “I’ll take care of them for you.”

Alec nodded his thanks. “I’ll grab my gear and go.”

“Here.” Izzy handed him his bow and quiver. “I re-runed your arrows while I was waiting.” She waited while he got his harness settled and then strapped various blades to his arms and legs. Finally, she handed him the hereditary sword from their mother’s family, a kopis named Boreana, which Maryse had presented to Izzy at her rune ceremony. “It’s yours now,” she insisted when he would have given it back. “We all heard what the angel said. Besides, if you’re fighting Lilith head-on, you need all the advantages you can get.”

“But it’s yours.” Alec twisted it through the air, feeling its balance. At Izzy’s stubborn expression, he capitulated. “Fine. But I’ll give it back when Lilith is defeated.” Neither of them mentioned the possibility that Izzy would be taking it off his corpse. He gave her a quick, one-armed hug and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sure it’ll come in handy.”

When Alec was ready, he squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. Time to find out what ‘champion’ meant to the angel.

v^v^v^v

Lilith always fought front and centre of her army, which was helpful. It meant that Alec didn’t need to wait for her to turn up before joining the fight. Rather than spend his arrows before she arrived, Alec drew his sister’s blade and leapt into the fray.

At first, it was odd to fight without his usual companions at his back, but Alec soon adjusted. He could feel other shadowhunters at his side, a soothing pulse of energy as the line he’d joined moved almost as though it were one body.

Boreana was light in his hands, sharp and nimble. It flicked out, almost with a will of its own, and demon after demon fell before him.

Something changed; a presence behind him that didn’t fit, along with the feeling of being watched, caught Alec’s attention. He fell back, watching to ensure his space in the line was compensated for before turning to face the person observing him.

The watcher was tall and slim, with Asian features and tight, revealing clothing. Golden cat-eyes gave his identity away; there was only one warlock fighting on the front lines.

This was Magnus Bane, one of the strongest warlocks on the planet, the man who’d fought toe-to-toe against Lilith for a week now. The same warlock who’d led the downworld in the cold war the Clave had been losing for the last two decades.

Teachers in the Academy had mixed feelings about Magnus Bane, both resenting his effrontery and admiring his successes. Izzy’s relationship with Meliorn, one of the seelie ambassadors to the Clave, had allowed the young Lightwoods access to more balanced information than the Clave allowed their young shadowhunters access to. As a result, both Izzy and Alec had long ago agreed that Magnus Bane had many valid points about how the downworld had been treated by the Clave.

Alec had never seen him in person before, but then Alec hadn’t met many downworlders. Alec felt excitement curl in his belly. None of the Clave’s photos had given any hint of the very presence of this man.

“Mr Bane,” said Alec, hoping he didn’t look as starstruck as he felt. “My name is Alec Lightwood. I’ve been sent to deal with Lilith.”

An eyebrow went high. “My, how very final that sounds.” Magnus Bane walked forward, giving Alec a leisurely once over that he could almost feel. “Please, call me Magnus. Lightwood, I think you said? Related to Robert?”

“Robert and Maryse are my parents,” admitted Alec, aware that Magnus probably knew of their history with the Circle. “My sister and I…our beliefs differ from those of our parents quite considerably.”

Magnus smiled. “That’s good to hear.” He looked Alec over again. “Alec…short for Alexander?”

“Yes, but nobody calls me that.” Alec knew there was something he was supposed to be doing, but he was finding it difficult to look away from those mesmerising eyes.

“I wonder why.” Magnus tilted his head to the side slightly, glancing at the ichor covered sword Alec was holding. His eyebrow went up again. “How intriguing. I didn’t think anyone used swords like that anymore.”

“It’s a family heirloom.” Any other inane comments Alec might have made were doomed to remain unspoken. A hush descended over the battlefield, the demons falling back and regrouping as a dark-haired figure strode through them towards the front.

Alec didn’t need to be told that this was Lilith. Her presence grated on his senses like an airborne poison, stinging his eyes, nose, and throat. She walked like a queen, as though she was a giant amongst ants.

Alec had never met someone so instantly irritating in his life.

Magnus laughed, a low, dark sound that flowed around Alec like melted chocolate. “Come into my parlour….” His hands lit with blue fire that slowly bled into purple, then into violet. By the time Lilith reached them, the flame was a mix of red and orange.

Lilith curled her lip. “It’s good to see you’ve rested, Magnus. You were starting to look a little frayed around the edges.” She glanced over at Alec. “And who’s this? A new toy you’ve decided to pass the time with? My, my, what would your father say?”

“Funny thing about my father,” replied Magnus, fire winding around his hands like an affectionate cat. “He stopped in for a visit earlier.”

Lilith threw back her head and laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “Oh, he must be quaking in his boots. He’s going to lose his son, then his position, then his life, and there’s not a single thing he can do about it.”

Magnus bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. “You think? He seemed to think that differently.” As he spoke, the shadows around Magnus started to warp and shift. For a moment, Alec could see the outline of scales superimposed over his skin, and then the humanoid figure of Magnus Bane was gone, replaced by something Alec could only call a dragon.

The battle came to a brief halt as all eyes were drawn to the enormous creature towering over the battlefield. Its scales were black with the faintest of reddish tinges, and its eyes were the same ones Alec had been so enthralled with only minutes before.

The implication was clear, the conclusion undeniable. Magnus Bane had somehow transformed into an enormous dragon.

A shadowhunter off to Alec’s left choked out, “By the angel, it’s a fucking dragon!” before taking advantage of the lull and lunging forward to decapitate a distracted demon. With the moment broken, the noise of battle resumed.

Lilith recoiled like someone had slapped her. “No! He wouldn’t! He couldn’t! There’s no possible way he—”

The dragon spoke, a low rumbling sound that resonated through Alec’s bones similar to how Raziel’s had done earlier. “Something wrong, Lilith? You look surprised.”

Lilith’s had already pulled herself together. “So, he’s given you a level-up. No matter, that just places us on an even footing. Good, I tire of mere tests of strength.” She began to change form as well.

Unlike Magnus’ sleek dragon form, Lilith’s transformed state was openly demonic. The demons nearest her dived straight her, merging to giving her extra mass. In under a minute, she was three times her previous height and was dripping with ichor. Her poisonous energy intensified, and something deep in Alec woke up and took notice. Something infuriated by the notion that this demon was threatening its home.

Lilith ignored Alec, all her attention on Magnus. “You think you can take me on? I’ve fought for millennia, you arrogant whelp! A mere power boost will gain you nothing but time, time to understand just how outclassed you are. I’m not going to kill you, boy. I’m going to chain you to the foot of my throne and force you to watch as I destroy this putrid plane. Starting with these disgusting half breeds right here.”

Alec stepped forward, sword in hand. “You talk a big game for someone who Magnus managed to keep at bay for a week even before his ‘level-up.’ Why are you even here? Because you got screwed over by a psychopath? He deceived everyone, and now he’s dead. Attacking us isn’t going to hurt him in the slightest.” He flicked a glance to Magnus. “Thanks for dealing with him, by the way. He was a disgusting stain on both humanity and nephilim alike.”

Magnus inclined his large, wedge-shaped head. “Agreed.”

Lilith, not happy about being ignored, threw a ball of dark, flaming magic at Alec. Magnus casually moved a wing, deflecting the attack and sending it back into the mass of demons where it exploded, reducing their numbers briefly.

“You can’t protect him forever,” Lilith growled at Magnus, turning her burning gaze to Alec. “Put your little knife away and get out of our way. I’ll deal with you later.” Her focus back on Magnus, she roared a challenge, the demons on the field echoing it with their lesser cries.

At her roar, the new awareness inside Alec rose up and engulfed him, answering her challenge with one of his own. He was dimly aware of pain as his body twisted and reshaped itself, but it was the pain of a knotted muscle being released. When it ended, Alec felt more comfortable in his body than he ever had before. His senses expanded, giving him a greater awareness of his surroundings.

Magnus no longer looked black. His scales were a deep, velvety red, rich and beautiful.

Alec’s hearing sharpened to the point that, even over the sounds of metal clashing and flesh rending, he could now hear the breathing of everyone on the battlefield. Rather than overwhelm him, he found that the world finally made sense. It was easy to be aware of minute details of everything around him. He knew how many blades of grass he was currently crushing—102,923, or 159,264 if you counted his tail.

The shadowhunter who’d spoken before—Jorge Stormvale; twenty-two, patrol second under Aline Penhallow for a year, under investigation for brawling; broken lower rib, infected gash in his upper, left arm—gasped out, “Now there’s two of them? Jesus fucking Christ!”

Lilith didn’t stop to talk, just bared her teeth and attacked, magic and claws and wings combining into a ball of hate determined to bring them down.

Alec followed the instincts of his new body, striking with his claws, defending with his wings—blue, rather than red, but dark and deep like Magnus’—and pulling his anger from his spine and funnelling it into his breath. The resulting icy mist rolled over Lilith, hardening into ice and freezing her in place.

“Remarkable,” came Magnus’ bass voice. “I’ve never heard that turning into dragons was one of the shadowhunters’ secret abilities, so I assume this is a recent development.” He examined the frozen figure in front of them with interest. “I wonder if you can make that ice colder?”

Lilith broke free, the ice exploding into shards around her. She was livid, spitting with fury. “You dare! I am the mother of demons, the greatest denizen of Edom, the—”

Alec concentrated on making his breath as cold as he could and breathed out again. Lilith dodged, right into a burst of dark red flame courtesy of Magnus.

Burning ichor always smelled disgusting, but it was worse when Alec could taste it as well. The screaming was distracting, even if it meant that Lilith was too occupied with putting the fire out to continue her attack.

Magnus coughed. “Gross. See if you can freeze her solid. Try not breathing so much as just pushing that feeling in the back of your spine out continuously.”

Alec did as Magnus suggested. He found that, by consciously holding his breath, he was able to direct a focused jet of power rather than a mist. Lilith froze again.

“Good! Keep going!” instructed Magnus.

Alec complied, keeping the single jet going for just under a minute. Just as Alec was starting to think he couldn’t hold it any longer, Magnus snapped, “Stop!”

The moment Alec relaxed, Magnus’ thick, spiky tail smashed into the frozen form of Lilith, shattering her into tiny pieces. Immediately afterwards, Magnus turned his fire on the remains, burning them into ash.

There was an impact to the air, like thunder with no sound. Alec didn’t know how he knew it, but he was certain that Lilith was gone for good.

The demons still on the field shrank back before beginning a full speed retreat towards the now shrinking rift behind them. The shadowhunters pressed their advantage, pursuing the retreat and picking off as many as possible.

Alec watched them go, suddenly tired. Was that all it took? From inevitable defeat to certain victory in only a couple of hours? It was almost anticlimactic.

Magnus settled beside him. “I always thought it was impossible to truly destroy a Greater Demon outside their realm. I guess you learn something new every day.”

“A lot of ‘truths’ got upended,” replied Alec. Now that the threat was gone, he had the time to pay more attention to his new body. He deliberately extended his wings, wondering what the span was like. The answer was massive. “I thought dragons were a myth.”

Magnus watched him fold his wings carefully, so they settled against his back. “Impressive. I wonder if we can fly?”

That was a good point. “Be a waste if we couldn’t. These wings are too large to be decoration. What’s your wingspan like?”

“I suppose it’s only fair to show you mine after you so obligingly showed me yours,” Magnus replied, a warm thrum underpinning his words. He sat back slightly and then extended his wings to either side of him. They spread wider than Alec’s, which was logical since Magnus’ dragon form was larger.

The rift collapsing in on itself drew Alec’s attention away from the magnificent sight.

Some of the fresher shadowhunters were chasing the few straggling demons, with the rest coming back their way. By the time Alec turned back to Magnus, he’d pulled his wings back in and was regarding the battlefield with something like resignation.

“I suppose it’s clean-up time,” Magnus murmured regretfully. “Now, let’s see if I can….”

Magnus was quickly surrounded by a whirlwind of power that completely hid him from view. The spinning light soon shrank down to reveal Magnus’ human form.

He blinked a couple of times before smiling up at Alec. “I’m happy to inform you that changing back didn’t hurt a bit. Try imagining what you normally look like, then sort of…pour yourself into the image.”

It was easier than Alec had expected. Moments later, he was back to normal. As normal as someone who could now turn into an ice breathing dragon, anyway. Interestingly, while his sharpened senses didn’t transition, his ability to process multitudes of data simultaneously did.

The world looked duller from human eyes, had less depth.

“Thank you for all your help,” said Alec, feeling slightly awkward. “I have to help with the wounded, but after that, I’d like to meet with you…if that’s okay.”

Magnus winked at him. “How forward of you, Alexander. No matter, I’d love to go on a date with you. Here.” He pulled a shiny gold business card out of the air and reached forward to tuck it into Alec’s quiver. “Give me a call, and we’ll arrange something.”

Alec felt his face grow hot. “Oh, I didn’t mean…that is, while I would love to….”

Magnus gave a theatrical sigh. “If you insist, I suppose we can talk about the whole ‘dragon’ thing.” He flashed Alec a bright smile, then clapped his hands together. “Now, let’s see what we can do about getting the worst hurt to the infirmary.”

Alec waited until Magnus had turned away before retrieving the card from his quiver and tucking it into his pocket. Then he went to help with triage.

There were only three urgent cases and under ten that were critical but not urgent. The rest were only minor breaks, bites and gashes that would be fine with an iratze and some time to rest.

When the first iratze Alec drew completely healed a bite wound he’d hoped to merely close, he was pleased but not shocked. Sometimes it just worked that way, and injuries that looked dreadful were not always as bad as they appeared.

But when the next iratze he drew—on a shadowhunter who had multiple lacerations as well as an open wound showing the distinctive signs of demonic venom—resulted in another injury-free shadowhunter, he began to wonder. Usually, an iratze was ineffective against demon venoms and poisons.

The third time his iratze produced a completely healed shadowhunter, Alec could no longer ignore the obvious. Looked like Raziel’s upgrade had included more than just a nifty new dragon form.

Activating his Communication rune, Alec concentrated on his voice being heard by every shadowhunter on the field. “Anyone dealing with demon venom, or whose Cure Poison and Antidote runes aren’t working, go twenty metres north of centre field to have that taken care of.”

Magnus finished portaling the worst wounded into the New York Institute and came over to see what Alec was doing. He watched with raised eyebrows as Alec completely healed all flesh wounds presented to him with just an iratze. The two broken bones required a bonesetter too, but the end result was still complete healing.

Magnus hung around while Alec worked through the forty-three men and women who’d presented themselves to him, opening portals periodically to clear the area. By the time they were done, the moon had risen high in the night sky.

Alec knew that he should return to Alicante. There would be debriefing, at least one investigation, some no doubt invasive medical tests. He should just go and get it over and done with, but his desire to please the Clave was mysteriously absent. He didn’t often do things for himself which weren’t rooted in his obligations to the Clave or his duty to the angel, and right now, he wanted to spend more time with Magnus.

Having someone so compelling be so openly interested in him, Alec Lightwood, the grumpy workaholic who was allergic to fun…was intoxicating.

Magnus was intelligent, powerful, and oh so handsome. Even the dark, angry-looking scars down the left side of his face added to the aura of dangerous allure.

Magnus didn’t seem in a great hurry to depart, either. “You have a gift for healing, Alexander.”

Alec put his stele away and stretched. It was a relief that he didn’t need to be bending down anymore. Being tall had its advantages, but it wasn’t all good. “It must be related to the whole dragon thing. It’s not something I could do last week.”

Magnus nodded slowly. “I know I said we’d talk about this later, but I’m curious. What is the ‘dragon thing,’ precisely?”

“Ah…” Alec hesitated. It wasn’t like he’d been sworn to secrecy, but shadowhunters didn’t really discuss Raziel with non-shadowhunters. They didn’t discuss him much amongst themselves, aside from the occasional swearing.

“If it helps, I’ll explain my dragon form first? Although I would prefer to do so in a more private setting.” Magnus’ nose wrinkled in a grimace that Alec thought was adorable. “This is not the most convivial location.”

That sounded good on several levels.

“Yes, please.” Alec would deal with the Clave’s disapprobation later.

Magnus made a hand movement, and a portal sprang into being in front of them. “After you.”

Alec strode through without hesitation.

Unite

It was over a week since Magnus had stepped foot in his loft.

Emerging from the portal into its familiar, comforting ambience did much to settle his spirits. There remained a slight worry about the wisdom of inviting a shadowhunter into his sanctuary. Alec had so far shown himself to be remarkably unprejudiced, but Magnus had been around too long to fully trust that it would stay that way.

First things first, a change of clothes. Then, something to drink. Something strong.

Magnus made a beeline towards his bedroom. “Welcome to my humble abode, Alexander. Please, take a seat and relax while I slip into something a little more comfortable.” He turned to give Alec a suggestive look—he couldn’t help himself; the man was stunning—and saw that he was blushing again.

Adorable, as well as gorgeous. A potent combination.

Magnus needed to remind himself that the man was a shadowhunter and a Lightwood, and an infatuation would likely end in misery for all involved.

Still. Those shoulders, those capable hands, that long, elegant neck. Magnus had never found angelic runes sexually appealing before, but that dark rune against that pale skin was an invitation to nibble.

Thank goodness for magic. Magnus preferred to wash the traditional way—it just felt cleaner, somehow—but in a pinch, magic would do, even when it was demon ash clinging to his skin. Magic also made getting changed a much quicker task and allowed him to swiftly reapply his make-up. Something less bold, this time. Smoky eyeshadow, a creamy lip gloss, with just a hint of glitter over the cheekbones and forehead; sultry and seductive.

Oh, who did he think he was kidding? He was already more invested than he’d been in anyone in the last few decades. Magnus not only wanted to find out if those rumours about angelic flexibility and stamina runes were really true, he wanted to find out what made him tick, how a child of Maryse and Robert could be so lacking in prejudice.

He exited his bedroom feeling refreshed and confident, to the sight of Alec unbuckling his thigh holster.

Alec looked up, a half-smile curving those lovely lips. “I hope you don’t mind? It’s easier to relax when I’m not kitted out for war.”

“Not at all,” Magnus assured him. “You’re welcome to have a shower if you want to get rid of all that clingy ash. I even have a bar of hellebore soap in the cabinet.”

That was technically a lie, but only a small white one. The moment Alec stopped looking at him, Magnus would filch some of Tessa’s. Her soap had been specially formulated to remove ichor from skin, leather, and fabric.

Alec paused. “Are you sure?”

“The longer you leave it, the harder it will be to get off,” replied Magnus. “Besides, I’ll want your full attention, and I know how that stuff itches. I can pop your clothes into the wash straight away; you’ll be able to wear them in an hour and a half.”

Alec smiled again. “Thanks, I’ll take you up on that.”

Magnus smiled back, conjuring an oversized, fluffy, dark-grey bathrobe. “Just leave clothing to be cleaned on the floor.”

Magnus didn’t use a washing machine for his own clothing; magic was more efficient and easier on the fabric. He could easily have waved his fingers and cleaned Alec’s clothes too, but then he’d miss having a hot-like-burning shadowhunter sitting around his living room in nothing but a bathrobe.

Magnus grabbed a suitable machine from the nearest store that sold them, dropping payment onto the store owner’s office desk. He considered altering the loft plumbing but was worried that he might adversely affect Alec’s shower. In the end, he just shoved the clothes in and let his magic provide electricity and water.

With that done, he was left at a loose end. Knowing that a magnificent specimen of manhood was naked, wet, and slippery in the next room didn’t help Magnus’ ability to concentrate.

It occurred to him that he should probably inform his friends that he was safe at home and that he didn’t want visitors. Magnus wouldn’t put it past Ragnor to decide to stop by in one of his genius moments of managing to stick his big green foot in at just the wrong moment.

A quick group text took care of that.

Magnus was starting to wonder if maybe he should go in and offer to wash Alec’s back when the water cut off.

When Alec—wearing the bathrobe—emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, Magnus was at the bar mixing a martini.

“I love your water pressure,” said Alec, wandering over to watch what Magnus was doing. “And your soap. It’s much better than the stuff we use; where did you get it?”

Magnus speared an olive with a toothpick, dropping it into the completed drink. “A friend of mine makes it. If you like, I can get hold of some for you.” He held the glass out to Alec. “Fancy a martini?”

“I’d be happy to pay for it,” Alec replied, accepting the martini. “My sister would love it too. She’s always complaining about how the soap we use dries out her skin.” He took a sip, scrunching his nose adorably.

“I’ll let Tessa know,” promised Magnus. “If the martini isn’t to your liking, I can make you something else.”

Alec shook his head. “It’s fine; I’m just not used to alcohol.” He took another sip, making the same face.

Magnus shook his head but didn’t argue. He made a second martini for himself before leading Alec back over to the living area and getting comfortable in his favourite chair. “I believe I promised you an explanation as to my sudden dragon transformation.” He gave Alec a quick summary of his father’s visit, including his own surprise and worry that it might have been a bad dream.

Alec listened attentively. “Huh. That resembles what happened to me, except that the Clave summoned Raziel, rather than it being an unexpected visit.”

The tale he told did have points of similarity, including the lack of proper explanation and the surprise!dragon aspect.

“Unlocking the blood,” mused Magnus, thinking it over. “I suppose that makes sense.”

Alec blinked. “It does?”

Magnus sighed. “Asmodeus is one of the Greater Demon’s that used to be an Arch-Angel. In a fashion, that makes me a form of nephilim. Just one from the opposing political party, as it were.”

Rather than look disgusted and repulsed, as Magnus had expected, Alec leaned forward in interest. “If becoming dragons powerful enough to destroy a Greater Demon is part of being nephilim, then why don’t all shadowhunters have this power? For that matter, why not all warlocks?”

Magnus tapped a fingernail on his lower lip in thought. “You might have answered your own question…if the Greater Demons and Angels are equal, and their human-hybrid offspring’s dragon-form can kill them…does either side want that?”

Alec stirred his drink with the olive. “Raziel mentioned a compact. Maybe part of the compact is that neither side will make empowered nephilim? And for Raziel to make one, Asmodeus had to be allowed to make one too?”

“It seems logical,” Magnus agreed. “I don’t know that getting confirmation out of my father is very likely, though.”

“Raziel isn’t exactly known for answering questions,” added Alec. “The Silent Brothers might know something, but I wouldn’t put money on it.”

“Can’t hurt to ask.” Magnus drained the final drops, then banished the empty glass with a flick of his fingers. “I’m glad that neither of us has to figure it out alone.”

“You seemed to know what you were doing earlier,” Alec pointed out. “With the breath and the changing back, I mean. I wouldn’t have known where to start.”

Magnus shrugged. “I’ve had hundreds of years to get used to magic use; I just applied that knowledge. I’m glad it worked. Winging it isn’t always a good idea though—no pun intended—so we should do some proper training.”

Alec nodded agreeably. “Speaking of winging it and training… when I changed into a dragon, my sword just disappeared, along with my clothes and all my other weapons. When I transformed back, my clothes and weapons were back, but my sword wasn’t. And watch this.” Alec drew a fingernail gently across the back of his hand, exerting no pressure at all.

The top layer of skin parted like his fingernail was razor-sharp. Blood welled up before the skin knit back together, leaving just the blood as a reminder of what had just happened.

Magnus moved so that he was sitting next to Alec. “May I see?”

Alec put his hands in Magnus’ without hesitation, watching while Magnus gently tested all his fingernails. It wasn’t just the one; they were all as sharp as a well-honed blade.

“Is it intent-based?” asked Magnus. “Can you change how sharp they are with concentration?”

Alec’s brow creased. He stared fixedly at his fingers for several seconds, then ran the same finger he’d used before along the back of Magnus’ hand. The nail no longer felt like smooth keratin, the way fingernails usually did. It felt like a dull blade, like a butter knife. It didn’t even leave a mark, let alone draw blood.

Magnus shivered in awareness, delighted at both the restrained lethality he was holding in his hands and the implications for Alec’s ability to focus and concentrate. “Wonderful, darling. You’re a natural.”

This close, Magnus could see Alec’s pupils dilate and his skin flush. He was also staring at Magnus’ mouth.

The signs couldn’t be more unmistakable.

Magnus leaned forward slightly. “Is it okay if I kiss you, Alexander?”

“Yes,” Alec murmured, “please, yes.” He leaned forward, too, bridging the distance between them.

Alec’s lips were warm and soft, and this close, Magnus could smell his warm skin. It was intoxicating, almost intoxicating enough for Magnus to miss the inexperience in Alec’s kiss.

Not that his kiss remained inexperienced for long. Alec was obviously a quick learner in more aspects than just magical application. He also wasn’t afraid to experiment and was swift to notice what Magnus did and didn’t like.

The implications of how that would translate to the bedroom left Magnus even more breathless. He drew back from the kiss with reluctance.

“Wow. That was…wow.” Alec’s pupils were now completely blown. He looked thoroughly kissed and eager for more.

Magnus stroked the side of his face. “You are amazing, Alexander, and I very much want this to go where it looks like it’s going. But before it does, we need to have a conversation.”

“We do?” asked Alec. “I mean, of course.” He blinked, losing some of the kiss-drugged look. “You can probably tell that I’m not very…that is to say that I haven’t really….” He blushed. “But I want to.”

“So do I,” Magnus assured him. “But it’s important not to rush things, to make sure we’re both on the same page. Consent isn’t just saying ‘yes,’ it means knowing what you’re saying, ‘yes’ to.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “I’m a virgin, not an idiot. Also, my sister has been very insistent that I know the theory. Believe me, you don’t know what embarrassment is until your younger sister starts recommending porn.” He raised an eyebrow. “My safe word is ‘vagina,’ what’s yours?”

Magnus laughed. “I think I’ll like your sister. I generally use traffic signals. You know, red for stop, green for go, orange for uncertainty. Other than that, I like restraint but am not a fan of pain-play without careful prior negotiations. Other kinks will require a more in-depth discussion.”

Alec shrugged. “I don’t know what I like. I mean, I know what I like watching, but Izzy told me that it might differ from what I like to do. I do know that no one has ever affected me quite the way you do, and I’m not interested in sharing. It’s probably too soon to ask that we be exclusive, but that’s what I want.”

Magnus was more than happy to agree to that. “Then we’ll start there. Exclusive until further notice, willing to explore.”

“Agreed,” said Alec. “Until then, how do you feel about making out, jerking each other off, maybe some frottage? And I’ve practised my blowjobs on cucumbers, but Izzy tells me the real thing is an amazing power trip.” Only his blushes and the tilt of his chin betrayed his nerves.

“Let’s start with the kissing and the making out,” Magnus suggested. “There’s really no hurry; I’d like to take our time and work our way up.”

Alec’s answer was another scorching-hot kiss. Magnus pressed himself closer, one hand running over that long, sexy throat to the back of his neck and the other ghosting over strong arms encased in the fluffy robe.

“It’s unfair that you’re wearing so many clothes when I’m practically naked,” Alec pointed out when he broke for air.

“Getting you into that robe was an inspired move on my part,” admitted Magnus. “Luckily, the imbalance is easily solved.” He snapped his fingers, swapping his outfit out for his golden silk robe. “Can I bite your neck? Not hard enough to leave a mark, I promise.”

Alec shuddered, eyes falling shut and head tipping back. “Go ahead. After that, I want your hands on me.”

“I can multitask,” murmured Magnus, nipping his way along the edges of the black rune that had been tantalising him for the last couple of hours. Was that really only how long it had been since they’d met? Was it really only a week ago that this man would have been considered an enemy, someone to be avoided?

Magnus was distracted from his attempt at introspection by the feel of hard muscle and wiry chest hair under his fingers at the same time as delightfully calloused fingers slipped under the silk of his robe and over his shoulders.

There would be time enough to work out the details later. Magnus had the feeling that he and Alec had a long, long time to cover everything they needed to cover.