Some Wounds Never Heal

Summary: The confrontation at Renwick's went a little differently than it did in City of Bones. Oneshot.

Luke couldn't breathe. He was laying flat on his back, his legs splayed uselessly out in front of him. A horrendous pain was radiating from his chest, just beneath his collarbone, causing his lungs to burn with each desperate breath he took. He could feel blood rushing from the wound, and he vaguely wondered if it would even be possible to get the stains out of his clothes. He didn't know why he considered the thought … he had more pressing matters at hand. The man managed to pry his eyes open when he heard someone shouting his name. His eyebrows creased as he tried to recognize it.

I know that voice … Why can't I put a face to it? The were-wolf's features twisted with pain as he raised his head off the floor and in the direction of the screams. "Clary," Luke rasped, grimacing at the harsh tang of blood in his mouth. He could see her fighting against Jonathan's – Jace's – hold, and she was staring directly back at Luke with a look of pure horror on her face. It made the man's heart twist. He hated to see Clary afraid, especially when he couldn't do anything to chase the nightmares away from her. That was what he was there for. To keep her safe.

He was doing a horrible job of it at the moment.

Luke released a choked moan when a booted foot prodded him painfully in the side, causing his injury to flare up. He turned his agonized eyes away from the girl he loved like a daughter and up to the man he had used to love like a brother. Seeing the cold look in Valentine's dark eyes made Luke grit his teeth. The monster before him now was nothing of the man he had used to be. It hurt Luke to acknowledge it, but he knew it was the truth. He wouldn't be in his current position if it wasn't so.

Valentine was staring down at him in obvious enjoyment. He liked seeing Luke's pain – it brought a smile to the light haired man's face. The were-wolf had the extreme urge to claw the smirk off his face. Valentine was responsible for all the pain that Jocelyn had suffered. He'd been the one to chain her to that bed downstairs, injecting painful medicine into her, treating her like a prisoner. It made Luke furious. If only he could stand … But his fast healing abilities weren't fast enough to allow it.

"Lucian," Valentine drawled in an infuriatingly gloating tone, "I can not express to you how much joy it brings me to see you like this."

Luke, ignoring the pain burning up from his chest, glared back at Valentine. "And I can't express to you how unsurprised that makes me," he spat, hoping to hide his hurt under a layer of anger. Valentine's lips took on a lopsided smirk – a smirk Luke hadn't seen in years, since before the Uprising. The smirk had only come out when Luke said something particularly amusing. The were-wolf could barely believe he was seeing it now. It looked so wrong on Valentine's face.

Valentine slowly lowered himself to a knee beside Luke, and the injured man wanted to strike out, but he knew it would be pointless. Valentine was too fast for him at the moment, and he had that sword clasped in his large hand. "Did you know," Valentine began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "that I'd heard rumors you were still alive here, living as a mundane?"

Luke stared silently back at him, not really understanding what he was getting at. Valentine continued, undeterred by Luke's lack of response, "I could have killed you long ago. Anytime I wanted." He lowered his sword so the point hovered just below Luke's chin, pricking his throat if he breathed too deeply.

"Then why didn't you?" Luke questioned, fighting the desire to swallow. He always got the urge when a sword was pressed to the soft skin of his neck … though, he supposed, everyone did.

Valentine shook his head and his hair gleamed off the lights in the room, making him appear to have a halo around his head. But Luke knew he was anything but an angel. "Because, Lucian," he answered, raising his other hand, that was clenched into a fist, over Luke's chest. "I would have gained no pleasure from that. You deserve so much worse for betraying me, for turning my wife against me." Luke opened his mouth to shoot back a sharp retort, but he never got a chance.

Valentine opened his hand and a pile of silver dust floated slowly down onto Luke's face, neck and chest. Luke instantly cried out as a wave of fire seemed to erupt all over his skin. He thrashed his arms and arched his back off the ground, almost completely oblivious to the ache of the wound in his chest. It felt like his skin was literally melting off. Luke could have sworn he heard a fizzing sound rising from his body.

"Luke!" Clary cried out in horror. The man could barely hear her over the sound of his own screams. "Stop hurting him!"

"Clary, don't look," Jace berated her fiercely.

By the time the burning feeling went away, Luke was on his stomach, supporting his shaking body on his forearms. His face was covered in a new layer of wounds that were oozing a viscous fluid. The silver powder had even managed to burn him through his clothes. The were-wolf was in extreme amounts of pain, but his eyes were dry. Pain was something he'd had to work through all his life. But that couldn't stop the soft groan that slipped out between his cracked lips when Valentine pushed him over.

Luke's aching and burning side hit the ground, but he didn't open his eyes. He was barely breathing. Valentine chuckled and brushed a gloved hand down the side of Luke's bloody and blackened face. The gesture would have been comforting coming from anyone else … and if there hadn't been some lingering silver powder on Valentine's fingers. Luke jerked away, hissing in a tight breath of air to fight away the burning racing down his temple.

This only caused Valentine to smile and laugh, ignoring Clary's increasing screams of anger. "What luck that I always carry a pouch of silver powder with me, wouldn't you agree, Lucian?" Valentine asked in a lazy manner, his pitch black eyes locked on Luke's face.

"Maybe I should buy a lottery ticket after this," Luke replied in a soft, strained voice. He coughed, and a trail of blood dribbled out of the side of his mouth and trickled down his chin. "Because I'm so lucky."

A look of annoyance flashed across Valentine's face, but was quickly covered up by a cruel grin. "Even in the face of death, you continue to fight," the man said with a hint of an approving look. "I didn't think you still had that in you."

"What can I say? I'm full of surprises," was Luke's mumbled response.

Valentine either coughed or laughed at that. It was hard to tell. Then, he leaned closer to Luke and whispered, "I'm going to take Clarissa with me to Idris, Lucian. I'm taking her away from your Downworlder influence, and you can be the one to explain to Jocelyn what happened to her daughter … if she wakes up, that is." His words were like velvety poison. They were spoken so lightly as if they weren't mean to hurt Luke. But he knew better than that.

Luke growled low in his throat, feeling pure rage racing through his veins. He wouldn't let Valentine take Clary anywhere. He was the one that loved her like a daughter, not this man before him. And he would never let anything happen that would hurt Jocelyn. When she woke up from that trance and found that he'd lost Clary to Valentine, she would be in so much pain. Luke would not allow that.

"No," he snarled.

Valentine tilted his head to the side a little, looking oddly surprised at the fierceness in Luke's voice. He smiled slyly, knowing he'd hit a soft spot. "I'm taking my son and my daughter with me … and there's nothing you can do to stop me." He was trying to rub it in, Luke knew this. It just made him angrier.

Luke grabbed onto the pain all over his body and stuffed into a ball deep inside him. He held it there until he knew he could overcome his weakness. When he opened his eyes again, they flashed with a wolfish shine. His snarl of anger quickly turned guttural, and he pushed himself up, morphing into his canine form in an instant.

He jumped up, jaws snapping at Valentine's throat. The man managed to duck to the side, and he spun back to face Luke as his large paws hit the floor with four loud thumps. Luke's gleaming eyes were locked on Valentine's face. He bared his sharp teeth, tail swishing in agitation behind him.

Valentine raised his sword and smiled. "Man versus Beast," he said as if he was enjoying himself. "So it shall be."

Then, he attacked.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Mortal Instruments series.