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[The chemical kind of high had never been on Jace's radar, really, he preferred release, the physical, pain that meant he was still alive, still fighting. Running, hitting, punching, sex, those were his vices, his escapes, the things that kept him grounded and centered.

Vampires, in his experience, were to be avoided. They talked too much and could fuck with your head, and he wasn't a fan of either. Of course, there were always exceptions, and if they came wrapped up in a sexy red-headed violent package, who was he to deny it? She threw him around like he was a doll but never quite broke him. It was just enough. Every time.

And every time he swore it was the last. Every time he begged her to bite him, make him bleed, he told himself it would be enough.

It was never enough. Just little tastes. She never gave him as much as he wanted, never enough to really feel the high, just enough to want more. And just enough she hadn't become a daywalker.

Somehow, knowing he was toeing that line, the danger of it, made it that much more irresistible.

He hadn't been looking for her, tonight. Not really. Not consciously. Just a routine patrol he'd gotten a little off-course of. The lesser demons were getting braver, lurking closer, starting to make nests in dark alleys and abandoned buildings and Jace was in the mood to set something on fire.]

[ They were more alike than perhaps the Shadowhunter ever wanted to admit. Natasha was old enough to know when to admit to something. She liked the taste of his blood - what vampire wouldn't? She liked leaving him in that constant limbo of wanting more of her venom, of wanting another bite. But she never really did want him to completely fall to the addiction. Then they wouldn't have quite as much fun.

That had been Raphael's mistake with Isabelle. And while it was perhaps another win for vampire kind to have a Shadowhunter once more engaged in a tango with a Downworlder, Natasha had no urge to brag. To make it public. To have other vampires sniffing around Jace. If they did, she would take no mercy.

So yes, there was some - well, a lot - of territorialism at play. He was hers whether he wanted to acknowledge it, or even realised it. And the second she sensed him; smelled him, she was right there in the same alley. He hadn't noticed her just yet. Even in her heeled boots she didn't make a sound as she closed the distance between them.

Leather shorts hugged her hips and ass, showing off her delicious curves. The red blouse she wore was sheer, revealing the black bra that displayed her impressive cleavage. Red-painted lips parted as she ran her tongue over her fangs at the sight of him, and her red hair was partially tied back to keep the strands out of the way should she bite. Or just fight. Everything about her was a trap, and spoke of years of being able to draw in her prey before they even realised they had a problem.

She let him know that she was there with a hand on his hip and a swipe of her tongue against the back of his neck before her mouth was pressed against his ear. ]

Aren't you a little far from home, Shadowhunter?

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IDEFK BUT I AM HERE FOR IT

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