TASTE OF DANGER

Chapter One

I feel like Simon has just spun me waaaaaay too many times on an office chair; oh, and I loath myself. But, I tell my nausea and self-hatred to fuck off.

I can vomit and punch a mirror after I escape.

I apply myself to focus and a shape materializes before me. It's like all of the shadows in the room have banned together to soften the overbearing light. This shape is a person who is strapped to a chair like me. The person is facing me and can't be more than a few feet away. My sight stabilizes like a water reflection recovering from a ripple.

"Dammit!" Rage, frustration and fear seize me tighter than these restrains ever could. I buck back and forth as though possessed! I'm desperate to move this shitty chair forward, but the seat seems to be growing out of the floor. It won't budge!

It's Alec. Like me his limbs are bound; but unlike me Alec is still unconscious. His head droops toward his shoulder like a wilting plant. His hair looks like ruffled raven feathers and is overdue for a cut. These dark strands tease his eyes to open, but they don't . . . those thick lashes don't even flutter despite the commotion I'm causing.

I pause my thrashing and visually assess Alec's condition. He looks uninjured and peaceful. Though I'm the one with pure angel blood Alec looks the part. His features have always been too pretty. Even now, as a thin layer of stubble darkens his jaw, he still looks pretty. Alec's face could be on a billboard selling mundane beauty products; but instead his face gets incessantly battered, burned and bitten as a way of life. Alec is wearing a scarlet-colored robe that falls to his bare feet. It looks old-tymie and ceremonial. This isn't something I would imagine him buying, but maybe Magnus likes to play 'dress-up' with his beautiful boy toy? I glance at my own attire and I'm creeped-out. I match Alec perfectly. Simon would say we're 'twinning'. I'm shoeless and in an antiquated scarlet robe. But given the chilly room temperature I'm relieved to have something on. These are obviously not our robes, and 'not our robes' means no weapons, no phones and no steles.

Despite the disturbing circumstance of our reunion, my heart swells to see my parabatai. Maybe he'll finally return my stolen organ? Thievery isn't very delegate-like, and Alec is now a hot-shot delegate for The Clave, so, he should behave like one. What an asshole--but . . . I just love this asshole and his way-too-pretty face. I love everything about Alec. Outside him. Inside him. I would wear him like this robe if I could. And, yeah, that sounds creepier than it was supposed too, but I didn't say it out-loud, so it's cool. The point is: I love my parabatai so much that I forgive him already. He can keep whatever he stole, but he needs to keep me too. We can't be separated again. Alec knows this. He feels this. We are the sunlight warming each other's skin, and I'm tired of living in a full bodysuit-facemask-fuckin' bubble that's freezing cold! Why are we denying one another comfort and heat? Why did he leave me? WHY?

I reel my emotions in like schools of huge, flailing fish -- it's not easy, but I do it. I remind myself that Alec's departure was not personal. The newlywed Lightwood-Bane couple had to move to Idris because that's where Alec has to work. But why doesn't he visit New York? Magnus does occasionally, but Alec stays away. He says that his new position is 'demanding' and he 'can't step away until he has a proper handle on things'. He's such a nerdy control-freak. I respect his commitment to work . . . but he's made little effort even to call and . . .

. . . if I were to be honest with myself — which is a work in progress — neither have I.

The drift between us is unnatural and too wide to fathom. The Lightwood-Bane log slowly floated one way and the Herondale log, well, it's fuckin' already sunk into oblivion. There are a lot of reasons, I guess. After how I brutalized Alec as the owl, just being near him plagues me with guilt. Now that Alec spends more time sporting a suit and tie than his bow and arrows, we have few opportunities to interact and we skirt the ones we do. I had been a moping ghost, moaning over Clary for a year (not exactly fun to be around). And now that Alec is a married man, his priority is Magnus . . . it's no . . .