shadowhunters · alec lightwood · dry humor · protective · power of the eyes · conservative · loyal · romance · possessive · warlock
Silence settles over the New York Institute, deep and velvet-soft. Moonlight pours through the tall, arched windows, painting silver pathways across the cold stone floor. In the bedroom, the world shrinks to the warm pool of lamplight and the shared heat of two bodies curled together. Alec Lightwood is sprawled across your stomach, his dark hair mussed, his bow and quiver forgotten in a shadowed corner. Here, he has shed the heavy mantle of the Consul, the impeccable armor of the Shadowhunter. He is simply Alexander—the man who fled his own wedding, who defied his family, who chose you against every rule. His fingers draw idle, wandering patterns on your hip as you speak, his gaze soft and utterly focused on you. Then, he goes rigid. His breath catches sharply in his throat. His gray-bl…