A/N: I got some interesting responses to this story thus far. Most of you guys don't seem to know what to make of it and I can't blame you because, same. I know it's slow right now, but can you blame me? It kinda needs to be right now. Anywho, let me know what you think of what I've written.
Disclaimer: Owning nothing is sad, but alas…
Chapter 3
The trip back to the stranger's house, while short, was unpleasant.
Clary's legs were still numb, but blonde man's warm winter jacket had done a great deal to warm up her torso, so instead of a blissful nothing, she felt the biting pain of her arms and chest regaining feeling. She was, for the most part, uncannily comfortable in his arm. He had a strong grip and Clary undoubtedly had felt safer than she had, well, ever.
This fact in and of itself was disconcerting though. She knew nothing about this man and, yet, she was sure that she could trust him. Her brain told her that this was a dangerous thought to have. She couldn't risk forming any attachments.
He jostled her slightly from time to time when he noticed her drifting. It was impressive that he noticed considering she didn't even notice when it was happening most times. Each time he did, he would grunt a little, like she was a huge inconvenience to him.
Don't pick someone up against their will if it's bothersome to you, she sneered mentally, her irritation far outweighing her gratitude.
His long stride moved them quickly from the bench through a lightly wooded area outside of town. The trees were thin and fairly spaced out so that the area only barely qualified as woods, but that was perhaps the most accurate way to describe where the handsome man took her. As they travelled farther from civilization, a general sense of practiced uneasiness settled over her, less from natural intuition than a learned distrust.
"You're not one of those people who sacrifice unsuspecting young women in the middle forests in the name of the ancient gods or anything like that, are you?" she asked after a spell of silence. She was frustrated to note that her voice lacked strength and sounded as heavy as her eyelids felts.
She felt, rather than heard, a rumble in his chest and wondered if that was what he considered laughter. She was glad she'd felt that questionable laughter because his next response was gruff and impassive.
"There's not really anything you could do about it if I was, is there?"
She laughed weakly, resolving to try and worry less about the situation, and quipped, "Well I was going to freeze to death anyway. At least this will be an interesting story someone will tell. Make the death as quick as possible, if it's not an inconvenience."
There was the rumble again and she detected the smallest hint of a smile on his otherwise stony face.
"I'll see how much blood the old gods want before I commit to anything," he concluded, his tone serious. Aside from the rumble and the almost-smile, he showed no indication that he was joking, but her concerns were eased nonetheless and she felt herself relax into his arms.
She'd never been held so intimately before today and the sensation, though she knew it was artificial in its actual intimacy, was a new one, to say the least. She wasn't sure whether or not she enjoyed the sensation. On the offset, there was nothing unpleasant about it. She was cloaked in warmth, security, and his scent, which was earthy in an all too pleasing way, but the experience put her on her guard more than anything else. She couldn't get attached to this place and life had taught her that the most painful blows always came before she knew to expect them.
So while she relaxed into his grip and set her mind at ease, she was careful not to dull her senses and her heart was hardened against anything he might throw at her.
After what Clary estimated was maybe half an hour, she could make out a dimly lit shabby cabin a few yards away. She could barely even bring herself to register this fact with surprise.
Of course the handsome mountain man lives in a creepy cabin, she mused, only dimly frustrated.
Clary hadn't slept in days and she hadn't eaten anything substantial since her money became essential for bus fare. Despite all her posturing about keeping aware and not needing anyone, she was not at her best form and it was evident in her lack of alarm at the prospect of being in a cabin away from town with a man who could more than easily overpower her.
"S-stop. It's ok. I'm not going to hurt you," he ordered, sounding slightly jarred by the fact that he'd said anything. Clary looked up to shoot him a bewildered look. Stop?
"I could almost feel your mind running," he explained, offering no further explanation.
When they reached his porch, he hesitated, clearly wondering how he was going to handle the door. Clary opened her mouth to insist that she could stand, only to slam it shut as he began moving, assumedly having figured out what he was pondering.
He moved as close to the door as possible, trapping her body between his hard chest and wooden door, and she felt his hand move out underneath her legs although his forearm stayed where it was to support her. She sucked in a breath in surprise at the sensation, knowing that this could possibly be cause for alarm. Instead she felt her face flush as she could feel his hard chest, slightly chilled from the cold, and his hot breath on her neck, reminding her why she'd lingered in this town in the first place After a moment of fumbling about in search of a doorknob, she felt his wrist twist as he turned the doorknob and opened the door.
As he carried her over the threshold, she asked in shocked, "You don't lock your door?"
"I don't get a lot of visitors," he answered simply, as if it was obvious. She supposed it was obvious, but the idea of being even more defenseless in this place was more than a little unsettling and it must have been evident on her face, as he continued, "But if it worries you, I'll lock it for tonight."
She looked up to lock eyes with him, his golden eyes wide in concern. He pushed the door shut with his foot and then turned the lock with a satisfying click, causing her to release a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.
"So mystery girl is more afraid of what's on the outside than she is of me," he mused, his eyes light and his tone showing more emotion than the dispassion he'd so far shown her.
Clary averted her glance to scan the room and was pleased to note that it was much less creepy on the inside than on the outside. It looked, dare she say it, homey. Immediately upon entrance she could guess the layout of the house. The living room was simply furnished as it sported a worn, leather sofa with an afghan draped over the back behind a simple wooden coffee table. She noticed a lovely fireplace to the right of the door in front of the table and a framed photograph on that table. The walls were grey and there were no carpets. The kitchen was small and separated from the living room by a short island only. To her right, she noticed two wooden doors, presumably a bedroom and a bathroom.
He set her down on the couch so that she was seated upright and looked at her a moment awkwardly before reaching behind her and grabbing the afghan she'd seen earlier. He offered it to her tentatively and, when she accepted it, froze again.
Clary felt like she should help him, as he clearly had no idea what to do, but she was at a loss for words as well. Noticing her bag still in his hand, she offered an outstretched hand and wiggled her fingers expectantly. He eyed her hand like it was a snake. As if sensing her unasked request, Simon meowed impatiently, snapping Jace out of his stupor.
With a surprised "Oh," he offered her the black bag gingerly, which she accepted and opened. Simon nearly leapt out of the bag, his eyes scanning the room anxiously in search of a threat. Clary wasted no time in wrapping the curly haired brown cat in the afghan and squeezing him to her chest. Simon mewed indignantly but accepted the gesture.
"Your cat is glaring at me," the man stated, his tone borderline amused. Simon was indeed glaring at the blonde-haired stranger with eyes more expressive than a cat's should be, and looking at him they expressed one sentiment only: I don't trust you.
"He doesn't like strangers," Clary replied simply, amused by Simon's protectiveness.
"Right," the stranger said, averting his gaze from the pair to look around the room restlessly, "Ok. I'm not sure what to do here. Are you hungry? Cold? You're probably cold. I should get you out of those clothes." He returned his gaze to her to offer an appraising look in time to catch her quirk an eyebrow up at him.
He lifted his arms up in a defensive position, his eyes widening as the meaning of his words dawned on him, and he corrected, "No. No. That's not what I meant. I mean into something thicker and warmer. Your clothes look kind of thin. Not that I was looking… in that way, I mean. I was looking, but in a doctor-y way." He stopped his nervous rant with a sigh and Clary had to stop herself from laughing. Even so, she couldn't help the small smile that appeared on her face.
He ran a hand down his face, his eyes moving from hers momentarily before they found hers again. They maintained a steady eye contact for a moment, like they had earlier that day, and she watched him relax slowly. She felt something strong rise up in her and she wanted to vocalize it, but didn't know how.
Instead, she offered him what she could and said, "It's alright."
He nodded slowly and she watched his shoulders relax.
"Ok," he began, his voice more confident, "Here's how this is going to go. I'll draw you a warm bath and find you some of my clothes that maybe you'll fit into. You're small though, so don't expect a lot. I have a washer in the cellar outback, so I'll wash what you have on now. I'll build a fire and make you some food. You can sleep in my bed tonight and we'll figure out how to get you moving again tomorrow."
His voice had a hint of finality to it, hinting that Clary couldn't argue if she wanted to and she certainly didn't want to. This was more than for what she ever could've hoped. One part of his plan, though, absolutely wouldn't do.
"I won't take your bed. I'll sleep on the couch."
He cocked an eyebrow at her in surprise and retorted, "You're not in a position to debate, mystery firecracker."
"Mystery firecracker?" Clary asked, wrinkling her nose at him.
"You're a mystery with red hair and I can already tell you're going to be a pain in my ass. So, yeah, mystery firecracker will do. You could always tell me your name and put an end to my heinous nicknaming," he quipped, his naturally impassive voice tinged in curiosity.
"I won't take your bed, blondie. That's final. You can sleep on the couch if you want, but I'd sleep on the floor sooner than I'd take your bed," Clary concluded, blatantly ignoring his request for information. Her mouth was set into as firm a line as her position was on the bed.
He let out a sigh, the corner of his mouth lifted in amusement, before turning away from her and making for one of the doors she'd noticed earlier. He paused for a second, his hand on the doorknob, and surprised her by saying, "The name is Jace. Fine, you can have the couch."
It was only after the door shut and she heard the sound of water running that she released a breath she had unintentionally been holding.
