There were three words that Clary never wanted to hear. And she had heard them.
Jace had been stabbed in the back just as he saved Clary from the last demon. His eyes glazed over, and he choked, muttering about how impossible it was that he would die this way. Blood poured from the wound on Jace's back, turning the ground red.
Clary tried Iratze after Iratze, trying so hard not to let him go. That was when he told her. "Clary, I'm dying." She looked at him straight in the eyes now, turning her stele over and over in her hand. "I have an idea," She proclaimed. Jace just stared. She flipped her stele and drew on his back.
Black, swirling lines appeared on the surface of his skin. He seemed to be glowing for a moment while the elegant lines twisted into sharp points, and his wound sewed itself up.
"I love you, Clary." He said, and laid his hand on hers, never to let go.