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Raphael fought back violent urges as he followed the boy’s quick exit from Magnus’s apartment. He’d already not been in the best of spirits, and Magnus sticking him with the excitable puppy that was Simon Lewis wasn’t helping. Really, what sort of foul luck had turned Simon into a vampire instead of the werewolf he was clearly better suited for? Thus saddling Raphael with his irritating existence for... well, forever. His teeth clenched at the thought.
Simon waited for him at the end of the hall, holding the elevator door open.
“Can we hurry it up a bit please?” he said. “Some of us have a life, you know—I mean... Okay, maybe not a life technically, but...”
With the mood Raphael was in, Simon’s voice—usually a mere annoyance—was like receiving a face full of garlic. It was no easy feat for Raphael to remain impassive and continue his measured walk, giving no indication of the rage that broiled inside.
The effort was well worth it, however, as it caused Simon’s annoyance to skyrocket. Always a desirable outcome. His expression became downright stony, at complete odds with the timid, awkward boy Raphael had met only months before. No longer was he frightened of Raphael, intimidated by his voice, his stealth, his power, treating him with the courtesy and respect he deserved. Now he openly challenged Raphael, treating him with a level of disdain that was neither wise nor warranted.
“Fine. You know what? Fine,” said Simon, throwing up his hands. He turned his back on Raphael and walked inside the elevator. The doors closed behind him, his last mutterings of, “Not gonna take this seriously... Don’t need you anyways, I’ll do it myself...” still audible to Raphael’s enhanced hearing.
Rolling his eyes now that he was alone, Raphael went to the door adjacent to the elevator and shoved it open. It hit the wall with a bang. Before it even had time to swing shut again, he was at the bottom of the 13-flight staircase, making his way into the lobby of Magnus’s apartment building. He walked calmly over to the elevator and planted himself in front of it.
A good ten seconds later the doors slid open with a ding! and Simon stepped out, only to stop dead with a surprised yelp.
“I’m sorry, what was it you were saying?” Raphael asked.
“Wait, but... How did you even—?” Looking past Raphael’s shoulder, it was then that he spotted the stairwell door. “Oh. Uh... Right, duh.” He scratched his head and looked away, obviously embarrassed. All too clearly Raphael could envision the delicious reddening of Simon’s cheeks that would have occurred were he still human. He felt a fresh stab of regret for the boy’s vampiric state.
“You are an embarrassment to all vampires,” he deadpanned, before turning and walking away. He heard Simon jog to catch up with him, shadowing him as he pushed through the glass entrance doors and into the chilly night air. Not that the chill affected them any, of course. He turned back to Simon, now standing next to him on the sidewalk. “And remind me how exactly you were planning to do this by yourself?” he asked, holding aloft the paper that bore Catarina’s address.
Again Simon fidgeted, but embarrassment was beginning to give way to irritation. “Can we just do this thing and get it over with?”
No arguments here, thought Raphael, nearly biting his tongue in an effort to stifle the waspish remark. Simon had a truly uncanny ability for getting under his skin. First as a bumbling human who never shut up, then as a fledgling vampire who couldn’t even get the hang of a simple encanto, and now as a— No. He wasn’t going to think about what Simon was to him now. Because he was nothing. He was nothing to Raphael, not after...
He was nothing.
Raphael glanced down at the paper in his hand, half surprised to see it wasn’t crumpled into a ball. He folded the paper in half and stuck it in his back pocket.
“Come on,” he said. He set off down the New York City street, not bothering to check whether Simon followed after him.
*
Raphael had never known Simon to be quiet for extended periods of time. Ever. Especially in the midst of extreme tension. No, Simon was more the ‘ramble incoherently until everyone was too bewildered to remember to be tense’ type.
Which was why, after ten minutes of what should have been a blissful silence, Raphael realized that Simon’s muteness was actually making him more distracted and tense than his incessant chatter normally did. With the absence of Simon’s voice buzzing in his ears, there was nothing to distract from the memory of Aldertree’s UV light. His face throbbed with a phantom pain that hissed and burned across his skin, piercing deep into his flesh over and over and over. It took every ounce of self-discipline he’d acquired in nearly a century of life to control the pain, the anger, the fear, and let none of it show on his face where, heaven forbid, the boy might see it.
Who would have imagined that Simon not talking could actually be worse than the alternative. And people thought God had no sense of humor.
Raphael forced himself to focus past the haze of pain and return his attention to their surroundings, so as to keep them headed in the right direction.
He stopped abruptly. To his credit, Simon fell into a fighting stance without hesitation, eyes scanning for the threat that had brought Raphael to such a sudden halt.
“What is it, what’d you hear?” he asked. “Is someone out there?”
Raphael scowled. A hot prickle of embarrassment crawled up his spine, only serving to augment his already considerable anger.
“No,” he said through gritted teeth.
“So... what, then?”
“I don’t know where we are.”
At this, Simon whirled to face him. Raphael met the irate incredulity of his gaze for a split second before turning away. He wanted to hit something. Badly. Neither did it escape his notice that Simon still looked very much ready for a fight, despite the lack of external foe.
“You mean we’re lost?” Simon exclaimed disbelievingly. “Are you serious? You’re the one who’s been leading us! How the hell could you not know where we are?”
“Simon...” he warned, his voice low, quiet.
“I can’t believe you! And here I was, actually thinking you wanted Camille captured as badly as I do. But I guess not. What, was this all just some big excuse for you to terrorize my mom? Blackmail me by getting an open invitation to my house? I mean, honestly, could you be any more Spike from ‘Buffy’? Just because you’re a vampire doesn’t mean you have to be a huge, walking cliché of one.”
Raphael closed his eyes, forcing himself to take deep breaths. It required real concentration, as breathing wasn’t something he habitually did anymore. But he still found the practice calming. Soothing.
“I’m supposed to be at home right now having dinner with my mom and my sister, but instead I’m stuck here with you while you’re dicking around and Magnus is waiting for us and my mom is keeping the food warm until I get there even though I told her I’m on a liquid diet, but she’s my mom and that’s what moms do...”
Raphael’s breathing had stopped, every muscle in his body grown taut. He stood completely still.
“...and look at you! That’s my family you threatened to kill and you don’t even care—”
In a move quicker than lightning, Raphael grabbed Simon by the throat, ran him into a nearby alleyway, and slammed him against a crud-stained brick wall. Simon choked, his eyes wide—not from the pressure of fingers digging into his neck, but from pure shock.
“Do not presume to know me,” Raphael said, a tempest contained in the deathly chill of his voice. “I don’t care?” He pulled Simon off the wall an inch only to slam him back again, more for emphasis than to cause actual pain. His lips curled into a snarl, baring his fangs. “Why do you think I’m doing any of this? You’re not the only one with a family to protect.”
For the first time since Raphael had known him, Simon was speechless.
“What do you think Aldertree will do to my clan if I don’t deliver Camille to him, hmm? He had no problem doing this to me earlier,” he said, gesturing sharply to what was now smooth skin, but only hours ago had borne hideous scars. There could be no question of what he referred to. “And something tells me that was only a warm-up for our new friend. There won’t be anything to stop him from burning my clan alive if he doesn’t get what he wants. Certainly not the Accords; he flaunted that proudly enough today. Your mundane mother is the least of my concerns.”
The fire that had gone out of Simon’s eyes, replaced with something bordering on sympathy, returned with a vengeful flare. “You—”
Before Raphael knew it, Simon had grabbed him and reversed their positions, pinning Raphael to the wall with an arm pressed to his throat. An embarrassed heat scorched through Raphael, that he could have been caught so off guard as to allow a fledgling to overpower him.
But there was another kind of heat too. Softer. Subtler. It spread from his torso, through his limbs, down to the very tips of his fingers, tingling in his blood. From this angle, Simon’s pale features glowed like marble in the moonlight. Michelangelo’s David made flesh and bone. Apart, that is, from the fangs that gleamed behind parted lips and dark eyes that burned with life. Raphael was grateful he had no breath to steal, for the sight before him would surely have done the job.
“You leave my mom out of it, do you hear me?” Simon said. “She’s got nothing to do with this! Just leave her alone!”
His anger brought back into focus, Raphael narrowed his eyes. “You made her a part of this the moment you decided to put my family in danger,” he said coldly.
“Me? I’m not the one going around draining mundanes, making vampire dens all over New York! Camille—”
With a burst of force that would have shattered a mundane’s arm, Raphael broke Simon’s hold, thrusting him several feet backwards.
“And you’re the one responsible for setting Camille free!” he shouted. His voice filled the empty space between them, lingering in the stale city air. All else was forgotten in the wake of his righteous anger. His vision tunneled to the boy in front of him, the one who had wronged him, betrayed him.
“None of this would have happened if not for you,” Raphael hissed. Every vicious, bitter emotion that he’d told himself to forget forced its way back up his throat, filling him with a lust for blood, for vengeance. And worst of them all: a hurt so strong it throbbed in his bones. He buried this ache beneath layers and layers of red-hot fury. “The vampire dens, the threats, this!” He gestured fiercely at the scars that no longer existed. “All thanks to you and your Shadowhunter friend,” he said, half-spitting the word.
Simon flinched, his face no longer a stone-cold mask, but a flickering portrait of guilt, fear, uncertainty. However, though clearly shaken, he managed to keep a hold of his anger even in the face of Raphael’s.
“We didn’t have a choice,” he shot back. “Camille was the only one who could help us find the Book of the White—”
Raphael lunged, seizing the other vampire by his jacket lapels. This time the space between them allowed Simon to see the attack coming, and soon the two were grappling for dominance, shoving and tearing at one another, their feet scuffling through the litter scattered throughout the dark and secluded alleyway.
At last Raphael emerged victorious, pinning Simon against the bricks with an arm across his chest, his free hand locking one of Simon’s wrists to the wall like a steel cuff. Both were disheveled from the fight and Simon—still so mundane—was breathing hard, as though winded. His defeat at Raphael’s stronger, more experienced hand had only fuelled the fire in his eyes, and Raphael was struck by the desire to suck the air right out of his mouth, reminding the boy of exactly what he was, and what he was not. Refusing to acknowledge the urge, he pressed his arm more roughly into Simon’s chest.
“I... trusted... you,” he growled. “I took you in, I let you be a part of my family, and this is how you repay—”
“I TRUSTED YOU TOO!” yelled Simon.
Raphael lurched backwards, the unexpected outburst causing his grip to loosen. Surprisingly, Simon didn’t use the opportunity to push Raphael away or try and gain the upper hand. He stayed where he was, glaring at Raphael. But there was something new in his gaze, something that hadn’t been there before. It glimmered in his eyes.
Hurt.
Tremors echoed up Simon’s body from his clenched fists. He was visibly shaking—with anger, yes, but with much more than that. His façade had broken, the mask of anger splintered just enough to expose all that lay beneath. The guilt and the pain. The fear and the vulnerability. And yes, the hurt too. For the first time since the boy’s transformation, Raphael felt viscerally aware of Simon’s youth. Not only as a vampire, but as a living being. He really was only a boy.
“I—” Simon choked. His eyes darted away, unable to meet Raphael’s gaze now that Raphael had joined him beyond the veil of anger. “I thought...”
Raphael remained silent, waiting.
“I started to think that maybe... maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, you know? I was so scared when I rose. Of myself. Of what I’d become. Of this whole world of vampires and warlocks and Shadowhunters. I’d never felt more alone in my life. But then... you were there and you turned out to be not at all like what I’d thought at first and I thought that... I thought maybe you actually cared about me.”
Simon swallowed, turning his head even further aside. “But then Camille happened, and I got banished, and had to start living with a bunch of werewolves who, whadaya know, don’t like me very much, because I had nowhere else to go, and then you made threats against my mom and... The Raphael that I thought I’d grown close to would never have done that, so... Finally I had to accept that you don’t care about me and you never did. I really am completely alone.”
At this, he found some of his earlier strength and met Raphael’s stare head-on. “Except for my mom,” he said. “She’s the only tie I have left to my old life. The one where... where I had normal human things, you know? Where I played in a band and hung out with friends on the weekend and stressed about college applications. I wasn’t alone back then. I never really knew the meaning of the word before Camille turned me.”
“You still have your friend,” said Raphael, doing what he felt was a rather convincing approximation of ‘calm.’ When in truth... With the lowering of Simon’s walls, his own walls had begun to crumble. Dangerous truths seeped in through the cracks like sunlight. “The redhead.”
Simon looked down, lost in thought or memory. “Yeah, I do. But... I also kinda don’t.” He shot a quick glance up at Raphael. The older vampire merely nodded. Some of the tension fell from Simon’s shoulders. “You understand better than anyone else can, I guess.”
More than I’d like to, thought Raphael. Visions of the Shadowhunter girl danced through his mind, a phantom image of Simon following close behind as he always did, watching, smiling, gazing at her with a tenderness that Raphael hadn’t experienced in many years. More than you think.
He hated this. He hated himself for this. His weakness for the young vampire enraged him, made him want to claw and tear and rend, to wreck something else as thoroughly as he himself was wrecked. Why of all people was Simon Lewis the one to affect him this way, a way no one else had for decades? Raphael Santiago was more than this; it was absurd to let an unimportant fledgling hold such power over him. Simon had made very clear with whom he’d placed his loyalty. His love. And if once, for a very brief time, Raphael had thought it could be otherwise, well... that was his own fault.
“I really am sorry about these...”
Raphael heard the words half in a daze, and didn’t look up in time to understand them before a soft touch met his cheek, right where his scars had been. The barest brush of Simon’s fingers against his skin.
A fire ignited inside of him.
Hand flying upward, he closed a viselike grip around Simon’s wrist and shoved the bewildered vampire back against the wall with renewed force, his other hand twined in Simon’s jacket.
“Keep your pity to yourself,” he snarled. Simon’s jaw dropped and he took a breath, but for once, Raphael didn’t let him get a word in. It was hard enough from this distance to ignore the curl of Simon’s hair, the color of his eyes, the curve of his lips... If Raphael stopped talking now, he would do something very inadvisable indeed. Dios, how he burned. “I have no want or need of it.”
“Jesus, there’s no winning with you!” cried Simon.
The last remaining thread of Raphael’s self-control quivered like a string pulled too tight as the heat returned to Simon’s eyes. He didn’t breathe, knowing instinctively that any movement could release the coiled tension.
“Go away, Simon. Come here, Simon. Feel bad for me, Simon. Don’t feel bad for me, Simon.” He bared his fangs and strained against Raphael’s hold, sticking his face only inches from the other vampire’s. “What the hell do you want from me?”
The thread snapped.
Faster than any cobra, Raphael darted forward and claimed Simon’s mouth with his own. The fire erupted in a blaze of heat and fury, scorching through every inch of his body, consuming him from the inside out. Simon inhaled sharply through his nose. But Raphael paid attention only to his lips—the tenderness of their flesh, their salty-sweet taste. Delicious. Intoxicating. He pressed forward, seeking more, his lips moving against Simon’s with determination, sucking, licking.
Then Simon groaned, and Raphael was lost to the flames.
Finally responding to his touch, Simon moved his lips against Raphael’s in return, becoming quicker and more insistent with each passing second. Fire roared in Raphael’s ears as Simon’s mouth parted for him. He gladly took what was offered, his tongue licking deep inside Simon’s open mouth. Simon groaned once more as Raphael tasted him, all of him, exploring tongue, teeth, fangs. Simon’s free hand looped around Raphael’s shoulders, fingers diving into Raphael’s hair, clutching the back of his head so he couldn’t possibly pull away even if he wanted to.
He didn’t want to. He wanted nothing more than to keep kissing Simon for an eternity. Releasing his grip on Simon’s jacket, he slid his hand down to Simon’s waist and grabbed hold of him there, relishing every little sound he made as Raphael continued to ravage his mouth. Every moan and whimper went straight to Raphael’s groin. He growled, digging his fingers into Simon’s hip.
For the first time since they’d started—being immortal had its perks, among them a lack of need for oxygen—Raphael broke the kiss. Only so he could move to Simon’s neck, feverish kisses turning quickly to bites.
Simon hissed, throwing his head back. “G-God...” he said shakily. “Raphael...”
Raphael unfurled the hand that had been pinning Simon’s wrist to the wall and grazed his fingers along Simon’s forearm up to his palm. Their hands latched onto each other, fingers locked tightly together.
He returned his lips to Simon’s, and Simon sucked him back in like a man starving for air, air he took straight from Raphael’s lungs. A low grunt escaped Raphael, in it every ounce of his desperation, his need. This seemed to spur Simon on. He attacked Raphael’s lips with increased vigor, until Raphael could hardly keep up. They traded turns exploring one another’s mouths, drinking each other in. Raphael’s senses were filled with nothing but Simon: the feel of him, the sound of him, the smell of him, the taste of him.
Raphael broke the kiss and wrenched his head backwards. He opened his eyes to look at the other vampire.
The sight of Simon, like the rest of him, was magnificent to behold. Red, kiss-bitten lips still parted, as though just waiting for Raphael’s tongue. Jacket half pushed from his shoulders, chest heaving as he panted. Pupils blown wide in eyes that stared at Raphael with too much want. Body pressed up against the bricks, splayed tantalizingly before Raphael like a scrumptious meal ready to be eaten. And Raphael was ravenous.
But this was not the place, and it was certainly not the time. They stood a foot apart, one regaining his breath, the other regaining his equilibrium. Neither looked away.
Finally, Simon cleared his throat. His tongue crept out to wet his lips and lightning pierced Raphael all the way through.
“That was... unexpected,” said Simon, still breathing deeply to replenish the air that he didn’t need.
Somehow Raphael managed a casual shrug. “I’m just following the script.”
“Huh?”
Raphael gave him a deadpan look. “You said I was Spike, didn’t you?” he said. “And you were the Buffy of that analogy. Not very accurate, but nonetheless. By the logic of your own metaphor it was only natural that we end up here.”
Simon blinked rapidly. “You know Buffy?”
Raphael couldn’t help it. He rolled his eyes. “I lived those years,” he pointed out drily. “You think I could possibly not know about a media phenomenon that redefined vampires for a new generation?”
Simon paused, considering this. Then a mischievous gleam entered his eyes. The corner of his mouth twitched ever so slightly as he said, “So... then Twilight—?”
“Shut up.”
Simon laughed.
Laughed. Actually laughed. A real, heartfelt, ‘head thrown back, stomach shaking’ kind of laugh. Raphael’s chest constricted. There was a sharp pain beneath his breast, as though someone had stuck a knife between his ribs. He hadn’t known how much he’d missed it. Hearing it, causing it.
That more than anything else told him how great a fool he’d been. He never should have given in, never should have answered Simon’s flippant question—What do you want from me?—with a far greater truth than Simon could possibly realize. Never should have fed the fire. Instead of being quenched, it had only grown stronger, craving more now, a more that did not belong to him.
A more that belonged to a girl with hair like fire who hunted shadows, not lived in them.
“We need to go.” Even Raphael was surprised by the icy cold in his voice. Simon jerked, staring at him, clearly confused by the abrupt shift in mood. “We’ve wasted enough time as it is.”
A defiant spark leapt to Simon’s eyes. He opened his mouth, no doubt to snap off a retort about how the wasted time was as much Raphael’s fault as his—more, even. Then he faltered. Forehead wrinkling, he looked down at the alley floor for a moment before meeting Raphael’s gaze.
“Yeah, you’re right,” he said, subdued. A fist clenched around Raphael’s heart. He hated seeing Simon look so beaten down. He would trade every one of those looks for Simon’s fiery temper any day. He felt cold and bereft without it.
“Magnus was probably expecting us back by now. Here...” Simon pushed off the wall and held out a hand towards Raphael, promptly disrupting the older vampire’s train of thought. “Give me the address. I can use Google Maps to get us there.”
As Raphael retrieved the paper from his pocket, Simon got his phone out of his own and powered it on. But when it came to life, he frowned.
“What is it?” Raphael asked.
First only puzzled, Simon’s expression turned to real concern as he scrolled down the screen. “It’s... Clary,” he answered, the words disjointed as he tried to focus on both things at once. “I don’t... I don’t know. Something’s going on, I think. She’s called me, like, five times and left I don’t know how many voicemails—”
“Go.”
Simon’s head snapped up. Raphael ignored the effect it had on his unbeating heart when their gazes met.
“Go,” he repeated just as softly. “She obviously needs you.”
“Yeah, but,” said Simon, “the mission—”
“I’ll finish it on my own. It was never really a two-person job anyways.”
Simon’s eyes flashed with gratitude, and Raphael suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He turned away.
“Raphael...”
His teeth ground together, but he looked back all the same. There was nothing else he could do when Simon said his name that way: quiet, reverent.
Simon smiled warmly at him. “Thank you. Really.”
Raphael gave a sharp nod.
Slipping his phone back into his pocket, Simon spun and jogged towards the mouth of the alleyway. Raphael stayed where he was, staring at nothing, letting the night’s darkness envelop him as he listened to the retreating patter of Simon’s feet until it faded away to nothing.
Then suddenly it was back, and growing louder. Eyebrows drawn, Raphael turned around just in time to be met with a kiss.
This kiss was not like their earlier kiss. This kiss was gentle and giving, and though it warmed, it did not burn. Simon’s hand was soft on his cheek, leaving a kinder memory in place of the day’s terror. All the tension stored up in Raphael’s muscles released, relaxing at Simon’s touch. He closed his eyes and, for one moment, he let himself forget. His lips brushed over Simon’s just as tenderly.
Simon drew back, smiling, his hand still on Raphael’s cheek. “Thank you,” he murmured.
Then he was gone, taking the warmth of his hand with him. But Raphael didn’t mind. For there were embers burning inside of him that he knew would keep him warm for days, even though he knew it would never be more.