Author's Notes:

Hello,

I don't write much fanfiction anymore, but apparently, when I do, it seems to be for fandoms that have a target demo for an audience half my age. I must be hitting an early mid-life crisis or something. Anyways, I ended up catching the Shadowhunters TV series a while back and for all its flaws, was sort of taken with the dynamics between Magnus and Alec. So, as a result, I found myself catching up on the many years of fanfiction to fill a small void when the first season ended. Alas, I seemed to still want more, so decided to just write something, and get it out of my system.

And here's the result: my first (and maybe only) foray into this fandom. Please accept my apologies for any awkward phrasing or pacing, since I don't have an editor for this and I tend to get carried away when left unchecked. As well, because I'm only going off the television series, it'll take me a bit to get the characters and mythology right, so I may have taken some license there.

Lastly, the disclaimer: these characters don't belong to me, but to their respective copyrighted owners. I'm just taking them for a test spin, and do not profit from anything here.

Other than that, please enjoy, and happy reading!

Cheers,

Kaye

(***)

Retrograde
Prologue: Taken

(***)

He was going to kill Jace.

Alec absently rotated his right shoulder, and tried to work out the soreness. Not only had his beloved - and he used that term very loosely at the moment - parabatai rushed headlong into a demon fight without a plan of attack earlier that night, but he had to do it at the water treatment plant down by the East River. The recklessness wasn't unusual. In fact, Alec would've been surprised if Jace hadn't behaved recklessly, but fate certainly hadn't been on his side when he'd misjudged the ferocity of their targets and had somehow ended up a bit wetter than he'd expected.

Alec rounded the block and caught a whiff of the smell that still lingered on his skin. He wrinkled his nose in disgust. Not wanting to bring the stench back to Magnus' loft, he'd rinsed off as best he could at the Institute, but he swore the sewage had seeped into his pores and likely crept into crevices he didn't know existed.

Yes, a slow and painful death for Jace, he mused. Preferably with many sharp objects and a variety of pointy things. In a room full of ducks.

He'd have to take a more thorough shower when he got back to the loft; it was something Alec didn't feel inclined to do, considering that he was bone-tired. It had been a few minutes shy of 2am when he'd left the Institute, and there was nothing he would've liked more than to simply fall into bed and sleep.

The neon sign of a familiar pizzeria came into view, and Alec let out a relieved sigh. It was a mental marker of sorts for him, a comforting indicator that home was just over a block away.

Home. He didn't know when he'd started to think of it as that. Somewhere along the way, it'd become his refuge, a haven, a safe place where he could simply ... be. The Institute, with all its spartan amenities and functional decor, had somehow been relegated to his place of work. And frankly, he couldn't wait to get away from there at the end of the day. He was more anxious to head 'home', curl up beside Magnus, put his long day behind him, and turn himself off.

He took a few more steps before he paused. He didn't know what had stopped him, but something inside him, some instinct he knew not to ignore, kept his body unmoving. His tiredness melted away as a rush of adrenalin washed through him, and his muscles tensed.

There was a stillness in the air, like the earth had taken a deep breath, and was just waiting that infinitesimal second before exhaling. It was a sensation Alec had experienced countless times in his life: those precious heartbeats before a fight when his mind honed in on the singular purpose of survival and his senses became indeterminately more acute. He cautiously reached down toward his belt, silently grateful he'd decided to wear some of his gear home. His fingers touched the hilt of his blade as his eyes darted back and forth, searching for whatever shadows lurked around him. The buzz of the pizzeria sign cut through the deserted streets, such a normal thing this time of night, and yet, it felt ... abnormal.

He was glamoured, so he knew whatever stalked him was not of the mundane variety, but the unfamiliar position of being the prey instead of the hunter caused his pulse to thrum loudly in his ears.

And then ...

A cat screeched from a nearby alleyway, and sprinted across the road, leaving a clatter of trash cans in its wake.

Alec watched the stray speed away. His posture relaxed as he let out a relieved breath. He ran his fingers through his hair, and gave his face a sobering scrub. By the Angel, he must be more tired than he'd initially thought, especially if he'd assumed a cat to be a potential threat.

He needed to get some sleep. Determined to get home, he continued on his way.

The attack came from nowhere. Or rather, it had come from somewhere, but his guard was down, and he wasn't ready for it.

The impact against the side of his body sent him to the ground. Yet, he didn't have time to dwell on it as reflex from the thousands of hours of training took over, and he used the momentum to propel himself into a roll. He'd scarcely regained his footing when the next hit followed. The roundhouse kick came at him fast, and Alec barely had time to block it before dodging another punch. The lack of light kept his enemy's features frustratingly obscured. Whoever – or whatever – was fighting him was human – or looked human at least - and was unbelievably skilled.

He was on the defensive, his half-formed blocks narrowly protecting his vital areas from the rapid succession of attacks. And had Alec not already fought off a horde of demons earlier that night, he might've been a match. As it was, he couldn't mount any semblance of a counter, and was huffing for breath in minutes. His muscles screamed bloody murder at the abuse as a well-aimed kick snuck passed his deflecting arm, and landed squarely on his chest.

The air left his lungs in a rush as he fell back and slid several feet along the rough pavement. He didn't even want to think about the road rash he'd get from that. Laying there, unable to move, his mind tried to get his body to breathe again, to force his chest to expand so that he could take in some blessed, much-needed oxygen. Panic began to well up inside his stomach, a tight, uncomfortable spasm that threatened to consume every functioning part of him.

He had to get up. He had to retreat. There was no way he could win here, and - to borrow a phrase from the mundane world - it would be a cold day in hell before he allowed himself to die alone on some deserted street in Brooklyn. He'd never hear the end of it from Jace.

With more effort than he'd anticipated, he managed to flip himself over, but he'd only pushed himself up a few inches when his opponent's knee dug into his back, and forced him back down onto the ground.

He let out a strangled protest when his right arm was wrenched behind him, effectively immobilizing his body. The sudden pressure on his shoulder and elbow revealed much about his attacker. Only well-trained fighters knew how to neutralize him like this; there was no way he could move without dislocating his shoulder or breaking a bone, and Alec was loathed to risk his dominant shooting arm by even trying.

He braced himself for the next blow, tensing when he felt his attacker's weight shift. But it never came. Instead, he was caught unaware by a hard pinch on his neck.

Almost instantly, his world spun. A needle ...

Shit.

The last thing he saw before he fell into oblivion was the blur of that red and yellow neon pizzeria sign.

End Prologue